


Your Mind is a Moment

by pirateygoodness



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Graduate School, Oral Sex, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma is a graduate student, working in a very prestigious collaborative lab at Culver University. It’s not that she’s not interested in dating, it’s just that relationships are too much of a distraction right now. If she wants to finish her Masters and PhD in five years and have an article published in <em>Nature</em> before she’s thirty, she simply doesn’t have time. </p><p>She’s not expecting to meet Skye, the cute barista at the local coffee shop. She’s also not expecting Skye to think <em>she’s</em> cute right back (or to be such a good kisser). She’s certainly not expecting to need to decide if Skye means making an exception to her rules about dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you've got the nerves but baby, I've got the skills

It starts because of Bobbi. Which of course she will never let Jemma forget, _ever_ , and its not even - anyway. It starts because of Bobbi, and it starts because Bobbi wants to meet to study at Eagle Coffee Company. 

It’s not a terrible place to study, Jemma supposes. It’s down main street, nestled in the stretch where university campus and student housing starts to transition into an actual neighbourhood with shops and restaurants. The customers are an odd mix of artists and students and young couples, which makes for a quieter feel than some of the coffee shops on campus. (It also means a much smaller chance of running into any of the undergraduates from the course she TAs, and that’s always a blessing.) 

Jemma doesn’t come here that often - she prefers to do most of her work in the lab, where she can run assays and keep an eye on Fitz while she reads - but it’s one of Bobbi’s favourite haunts when she’s stressed and needs a break from Doctor Gonzales’ watchful eye. 

She’s late, so Jemma orders a cup of tea, and sits at a table near the door. 

She double-checks her phone for texts from Bobbi - nothing. Fortunately, Jemma’s brought her own notes, and she starts working while she waits. While a part of her thoughts are absorbed in _Advanced Biochemistry of Physiology_ , she keeps looking up to be sure she hasn’t missed Bobbi. It’s not ideal for maintaining focus. 

Plus, every time she looks up, she ends up getting distracted by the cute barista working behind the bar. She’s wearing this black tank top, the kind that highlights her arms and chest beautifully, and she’s got a plaid shirt tied around her waist, likely because of the early spring weather that makes it warm inside, chilly outside.

It’s _unhelpful_ , because Jemma is supposed to be thinking about enzyme kinetics and how she has an exam in two weeks and a lot of revision to do before then, plus her lab work and her teaching assistant duties. But somehow, in between pages, her eyes keep sliding back to that cute barista. 

(Which is, of course, ridiculous. Because she hardly has time to _eat_ , let alone date; she’s also got her next thesis chapter to finish plus a stack of unmarked undergraduate papers as thick as Solomons’ _Organic Chemistry_ waiting on her desk at home.)

She ends up finding a sort of compromise - working through one or two problems, scanning the room for Bobbi, taking a few moments to watch the way Cute Barista pulls espresso shots. It’s not as productive as Jemma would like, but it’s a reasonable balance given the circumstances. Besides, Cute Barista is - well, cute. She isn’t the very muscular type, but her arms are definitely pleasing to look at, nonetheless. Jemma keeps finding her eye drawn to her left upper arm in particular, where her deltoid is covered with black ink in the shape of - Jemma can't quite tell what it is, from here. A bird, maybe? Something with feathers and stars and lots of black and grey, extending past her elbow and along her forearm. 

Her brain is hard at work, alternately pondering enzyme catalyzed reactions and the rhythm of that girl's arms at the espresso machine. Every so often she'll stop, turn to her notebook, and write a few choice equations. 

And somehow, while she's in this rhythm, she fails to notice that she's not really looking at her textbook to finish the work, but completely staring. And because she's not looking at Cute Barista's face, she also fails to notice that she's been caught staring until Cute Barista's had time to lift that beautiful arm and wave. 

Jemma feels her face grow hot; she knows she's blushing furiously. She lifts her eyes, and Cute Barista winks. 

It's embarrassing. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone, suddenly incredibly interested in why Bobbi is late. She realizes, horrified, that she has two missed calls and a screen full of text messages. She scrolls through them, hoping Bobbi hasn’t been hit by a bus or caught in some sort of emergency. 

To her relief, they’re entirely banal. 

_\- hey you. i’m running late - go ahead and start without me._

_\- hey i know i’m still late, so sorry. Caught up w/ lab stuff right now, be there in 20 min?_

_1 Missed Call: Bobbi Morse 15:37_

_\- so how much would you hate me if i rescheduled right now?_

_\- something ridiculous just happened, I’ll explain later. Talk tonight? :D?_

_1 Missed Call: Bobbi Morse 15:48_

Jemma rolls her eyes. Bobbi generally starts to get flaky when she’s either snowed under with work, or ‘reconnecting’ with her ex-boyfriend, and she’s about due for the latter. It’s a little irksome, but she and Bobbi have been friends for long enough that it’s not really a big deal. When it comes to important things, Bobbi is always around, no matter where she’s at with Lance. 

She packs up her bag, because her tea is empty and really, she studies best in quiet. Before she leaves, though, she casts one last look at Cute Barista. To her horror, she catches her eye, and Cute Barista winks. 

She leaves the cafe blushing, and her face feels warm all the way home. 

 

+

 

Despite her best efforts, Jemma’s back at Eagle Coffee the next afternoon. She still has her exam revision to work on, after all, and Bobbi offered to reschedule from the day before. (Her text message included nine different emojis, all of which are Bobbi for _I just had sex and can’t wait to tell you about it_ , so, there’s also that.) 

Jemma orders from one of the employees working the register, a tall man with scruffy hair and an equally scruffy beard, who serves her tea with hands big enough to dwarf her mug. She takes a table by the front window this time. It’s a nice corner to settle into, with a lovely view of passersby on the sidewalk. 

If it gives her an equally excellent view of the espresso machine, well. That’s just coincidence. 

To Bobbi’s credit, she arrives on time. She orders a coffee, and sits down with her notes, ready to rock _Biochemistry of Physiology_. They hit a good stride studying - Jemma has a problem series from the previous year’s exam, and they’re taking turns working through the particularly tricky bits. 

They’ve been at it at least an hour when Jemma’s focus starts to wane a little, and she catches herself glancing up at the espresso machine. Cute Barista is working again, hair pulled back in a messy bun that makes Jemma think about burying her hands in it. She’s not staring - she’s _not_ \- but she can’t help but notice the way the muscles in her forearms move and flex as she sets up her next drink, her movements precise and clearly skilled. 

The next thing she notices is Bobbi’s chuckle. “She’s cute,” Bobbi stage-whispers, and when Jemma turns she’s giving her that _look_ , the one that says Jemma’s not going to be able to brush this aside without a conversation. 

“I was just -“

“- totally staring at that cute coffee girl.” She says it matter-of-factly, in a way that brooks no argument. 

Jemma sighs. Bobbi has always been eerily perceptive, and even moreso when it comes to Jemma and dating. It’s a little maddening. “Only a little, it’s not like -“

“I bet she’s a good kisser,” Bobbi says.

“Mmm,” Jemma hums back, and it’s all she can do to keep herself from saying _probably._

Bobbi chuckles again, looking at Jemma with that expression. It’s familiar, the same look she had before Jemma started up with - well. She’s had that look before, is all. “You should ask her out.”

“No. Absolutely not,” she says, feeling her heart start to race in the wrong sort of way. They’ve had this conversation before - a while ago - and it didn’t end well for Jemma at all. “I don’t have time to date.”

“Yes you do. You’re at least twice as smart as I am, and if I can find time to date, so can you.”

“It’s not -“ she sighs, trying to figure out a way to articulate what seems so obvious in her head. “After what happened with Antoine, I just -“

Bobbi’s expression moves from teasing to soft. “I know, Jemma. But you can’t blame yourself for that forever. So, okay, you dated and had a horrible breakup and he ended up transferring to finish his degree somewhere else.”

“He transferred to _Hawaii_.”

Bobbi shrugs. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should be a spinster forever. You’ve got to have _some_ fun while you can.”

“I’m not opposed to _fun_ ,” Jemma says, trying to stay composed. Bobbi nudges her foot underneath the table, and it makes her blush despite herself. “But that’s not the same thing as dating.”

Bobbi makes a face, like Jemma’s at least made her point. But just to be sure, she presses on. “Besides, speaking of _fun_ , we both know you’re just trying to set me up because you’re back on with Lance this week.” 

And there it is, the cheshire-cat smile, because of _course_ she spent the entirety of last night hooking up with Lance, probably on top of some moderately expensive lab equipment. The two of them have been breaking up and getting back together at least once a month for the past year, but early in their ‘on-again’ phases, Bobbi’s always just as smitten as the last time. It’s a little cute. “Maybe,” she says, with a smile in her voice that means _absolutely_. 

They don’t really get a lot of studying done after that, but at least when Bobbi’s talking about Lance, she stops noticing when Jemma steals glances at Cute Barista. 

 

+

 

It’s a week or so before Jemma ends up coming back to that particula coffee shop. When she does, it’s a Thursday, and she’s taken the afternoon off bench work to take one last pass at her latest thesis chapter. Dr. Coulson wants to go over it that evening, and it's - well, according to Fitz, it's been fine for weeks and she's just fiddling around, but honestly, it needs another round of editing before Dr. Coulson takes a look. 

Jemma considers going someplace else - the bar on campus is usually pretty quiet midafternoon - but she keeps thinking about that table by the window at Eagle Coffee, and before she quite realizes it, she’s walked halfway there. 

Of course, Cute Barista is working again. She’s by herself today, working cash and the espresso machine, and Jemma nearly turns to leave but she _does_ have work to do, even if Cute Barista is there. So instead, she takes a breath, and walks up to the counter.  
   
“Hi, can I help -" Cute Barista starts, then she stops, takes a long look at Jemma. Her expression shifts from vague politeness to an actual smile, one that lights her up. God, she could at least try to be a little less attractive. "Hey. How are you?" Her tone is light, a little teasing but mostly friendly, like maybe she remembers being stared at, but didn’t mind all that much. 

"I'm alright," Jemma says.

"Good," Cute Barista says, nodding. Her hair falls forward from where it's tucked behind her ear, and she reaches up to put it back into place. 

Jemma's brain gets stuck thinking about how nice her fingers are. She speaks, before she can say something truly inappropriate. “I’m really sorry about the other day, I stare off into space sometimes when I'm working, I didn't -" 

Cute Barista waves her hand, cutting Jemma off. "Don't worry about it," she says. Her expression is bright, almost amused, and Jemma can't read her well enough to know if she thinks Jemma's being cute or embarrassing. "What can I get for you?"

"Just a cup of tea, please. Earl Grey."

"Nice," she says. "Very English. Can I get you anything else? We have scones."

"No, no. The tea's fine." 

Cute Barista shrugs, her shoulder lifting in this way that looks effortless, fluid. Jemma has to keep herself from licking her lips. "No worries." 

Jemma reaches for her wallet, hands the appropriate number of bills across the counter. Cute Barista counts out her change, and before she drops it into Jemma's hand, their eyes meet. "I'm Skye, by the way," she says. 

"Jemma," is all she can think to say in reply. 

Cute Barista - _Skye_ \- hands Jemma her change, fingertips brushing against Jemma’s palm just enough to give Jemma _ideas._. “Nice to meet you."

“Thank you.” Jemma says. “It’s, um. Nice to meet you too, Skye.” 

She feels herself blushing as she speaks, and it’s all she can do to keep her hands steady while she puts her wallet away and takes her tea. 

She spends the next couple of hours with her laptop open and her drink at her elbow, _extraordinarily_ focused on her thesis. If there are moments when she feels like there are eyes on her, she doesn’t look up. Even if she is pretty sure that Skye is staring back, this time. 

 

+

 

She’s back that weekend. She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s got a tricky assay running that needs some babysitting over the weekend, and her exam is coming up in a few days. It makes good logistical sense, is all. 

When she gets there, she notices that Cute Barista - _Skye_ , her name is Skye - is working the counter alone again. She’s wearing a grey beanie, her ponytail tucked up underneath it. It’s slouched back just so, with her fringe swept across her forehead at the front, artfully brushed to the side. It looks _gorgeous_ , and she’s fantastic at wearing hats, and it’s - it’s not relevant at all, but Jemma is a scientist, and she tends to notice details like that. 

She goes to the counter to order her usual cup of tea. It’s not as if it’s a complicated order, but she finds herself stammering when Skye says, “Hey, you. Jenna, right?”

“Jemma,” she says, automatically. “With an ‘m.’”

Skye’s mouth curls into a smile, and she repeats Jemma’s name to herself, lips pressing together on the _m_ s. “How can I help you this afternoon?”

Jemma orders her usual tea, trying not to stare. She catches herself tucking her hair behind her ear, feels herself blushing, and she has so much to get _done_ , she doesn’t have time to be smitten with the gorgeous cafe woman. Skye comes back with her mug and a plate. Tea and a scone. 

“Oh no,” Jemma says, “I didn’t order -“

But before she can finish, Skye gives her that smile again - and god, she’s beautiful when she does that - and says, “On the house, today. For our favourite customers.”

There’s something about the way the word _favourite_ curls around in Skye’s mouth that makes Jemma think she might be the only person on the receiving end of this promotion. She’s not really hungry, but she feels awkward refusing it and she manages something to the tune of _thank you_.

She makes it to her table, double-checks that Skye isn’t looking before she lets herself take a long, shaky breath in and out. 

It’s a little while before she actually bites into a corner of the scone, curious. It’s - well, _awful_ is a strong word, but it’s not good. It has that sort of stale, hockey-puck quality most American scones seem to have, and the currants are a nice touch, but they don’t make up for the rest of it.

Jemma eats about half, absently, while drinking her tea. 

She’s mostly working - _actually_ working, with the focus that comes with an exam a few days away. She barely pays attention to what Skye’s doing at all. So it’s a bit of a surprise when she looks up to see Skye standing at her table, smiling down at her. 

“Hey,” Skye says. In addition to that grey beanie, she’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt that Jemma’s seen her wear more than once - red, well-worn. She’s got the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and from this close, Jemma can see that the tattooing extends down to her forearm, roses and stars and feathers spread across her skin. 

“Hi,” Jemma says, dumbly. 

“Just checking in,” Skye says, with a grin in her voice. “I wanted to make sure you were enjoying your food and drink experience today.” 

She leans on Jemma’s chair as she speaks, resting one hand on the chair back. She’s still a comfortable distance away, but it still feels _near_ in a way that makes Jemma’s cheeks go hot. “Now, before you answer, you should know that it was my day to make scones.”

Jemma’s mind goes blank. This is flirting, she knows, but her brain is still revising common lipase substrates in synthetic biochemistry, and she’s not prepared for this. Before she can really think, she hears herself say, “Was it your first time making them?”

The moment she stops speaking she realizes what she’s _said_ , and she claps a hand over her own mouth, horrified. 

To her credit, Skye chuckles. But Jemma’s pretty sure that the tips of Skye’s ears go red, as she says, “Wow, that bad, huh?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean - it’s just - “ Jemma stops, takes a breath, tries again. “I’m sorry. That was really rude. What I meant was, American-style scones aren’t what I’m used to back home, is all.”

“So for American-style scones,” she says, trying to mimic Jemma’s accent and failing horribly. Jemma winces, instinctively. “How did I do?”

“I liked it,” Jemma says. It’s a lie, mostly, but she’s so relieved at the chance to recover that comes out sounding honest. “Thank you.”

Skye smiles, the pretty one that reaches her eyes. “You’re really cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” she says. Now it’s her turn to bite her lip, like maybe she didn’t quite mean to say that. 

Jemma works very hard to keep her voice even. “Thank you.”

“Anyway,” Skye says. She rubs her hand across the back of her neck, almost as if she’s nervous. “I should get back.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you around,” she says, like a question. 

“Yes,” Jemma says. She’s rewarded with that smile again, and this time it makes her feel warm all over, from her chest outward. 

 

+

After that, Jemma starts going to Eagle Coffee to write more often. There’s no shortage of writing involved in her lab work - she’s got revisions plus another chapter to turn in, plus the write-up for a journal article submission - and it really is a nice place to get things done. Sometimes Bobbi joins her and they spread out over one of the bigger tables, but more often than not it’s Jemma by herself. 

Skye doesn’t work every day, but Jemma finds herself learning the days when she does (Monday through Thursday until 5, Sunday evenings, the occasional extra shift on weeknights if she can swing overtime). Skye learns that Jemma’s usual is Earl Grey tea, but that if she’s feeling like she needs to treat herself, she’ll order a tea latte or an espresso. She learns to stop offering Jemma scones, but if there aren’t too many customers around, she’ll wander over and offer Jemma not-quite-company-policy free refills on her tea. 

It’s one of those days, a week or so later. Jemma’s got her laptop out, writing, and she smiles when she sees Skye come over. “Refill?” she says, smiling. 

“Of course,” Jemma says, matching her tone. It’s almost familiar, almost comfortable, the back-and-forth with Skye, and they have this usual rapport down to a routine. 

So it’s a bit unexpected when Skye brings her a fresh cup of tea and lingers, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. 

"So," Skye says, "Great American Novel or schoolwork?"

Jemma blinks. This isn’t part of the conversation she’s grown used to. "How do you know I'm writing?" she asks, dumbly.

Skye sets Jemma’s tea on the table between them and pulls a chair over to sit, in what seems like a single movement. She's almost as good at sitting as she is at wearing hats. "Well, you spend all afternoon working on your laptop, but you never ever ask for the wi-fi password. So I figure you're either a writer, or you've got a killer porn collection saved to your hard drive." 

Jemma laughs at that. Skye grins back, looking almost proud of herself, and Jemma feels her heart do a sort of leap. She’s adorable. "Seriously, what are you working on?" Skye says, leaning in. 

Jemma shrugs. "Just my thesis."

"So, school work?"

"Sort of. It's hard to explain."

Skye frowns. "What course is it for?"

"My PhD," Jemma says. She tries to make it sound casual, like it's something everyone's working on. But - well, it’s not. Skye's eyes go wide, impressed. 

"Your PhD in what?"

"Well, biochemistry, technically. It's really more bioengineering, I'm collaborating with one of the biomedical engineering students to put together a synthetic dendrotoxin analogue and delivery system for use in veterinary -" She stops, catching herself at the moment when Skye's expression sort of glazes over. She always does this; gets carried away with talking about her work. She knows nobody's really that interested, save Fitz and Doctors Coulson and May, and maybe Bobbi. "-sorry. That was more than you wanted to know. Biochem."

Miraculously, Skye gives her that smile again. The interested one that makes her feel like she's looking right into Jemma. "So you're like, a super-genius," she says.

There’s something about the way Skye’s looking at her that makes Jemma flustered again. Because she _does_ have genius-level IQ and she is the youngest student to be accepted to Culver University under Dr Coulson _and_ publish in _Science_ (as a second author, but still) before turning twenty-five. Skye isn’t wrong. “Well,” she stammers, not sure what to say. 

“Hey,” she says. She reaches out to touch Jemma’s forearm, and she feels sparks all the way to her shoulder. “You’re working on a PhD in three things I can’t even remember the names for. It’s okay to admit that you’re probably crazy smart.” 

Jemma blushes. “Thank you.”

Skye looks over her shoulder briefly - there’s someone new waiting to order at the counter. “Anyway, I should get back. It was good to talk to you." 

And then she's gone, back behind the counter. 

 

+

 

Skye asks her out a week later. 

Jemma comes in to Eagle Coffee, ready to tackle the stack of depressingly terrible undergraduate lab reports she’s been putting off grading. Skye greets her by name, and Jemma feels herself smile at the sound of her name in Skye’s mouth. It’s a quieter day - no queue of customers at the bar, and only a few tables filled. 

“The usual?” Skye asks, and Jemma nods. She’s starting to really like having a _usual._

Rather than move toward the counter with the teabags, like she usually does, Skye lingers at the counter. “Hey,” she says. She’s fidgeting with the towel she uses to wipe the counter, twisting and untwisting a stray thread around her finger. “So, I had a thought. Can I run it by you?”

“Sure.” 

Skye takes a breath, then says, “I was thinking that you should let me get you a drink sometime.”

Jemma freezes, because of _course_ her favourite gorgeous barista is queer, of _course_ this has been flirting the whole time and she’s suddenly terrified. But Skye is _beautiful,_ and her smile is so hopeful, and when she watches Jemma with those eyes, her heart starts to race in the best way. “Aren’t you getting me a drink right now?”

Skye smiles, leaning her hips against the counter. “No, _drinks._ ,” she says. “In an actual adults-only establishment, when neither one of us is working.” 

Jemma thinks about Skye with a glass of bourbon, thinks about Skye after hours with her hair down, that easy smile being just for her instead of her and her fellow customers, and her mouth goes dry. “Oh,” she says. “I, um. Alright. If you - that would be nice.”

“You sure?” Skye says, ducking her head to make eye contact, like she’s really only interested if Jemma’s interested back. God, she wants to kiss her. 

“Yes,” Jemma says, and before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s biting her lip. “I’d love to go for a drink with you.”

Skye presses her lips together, trying and failing to keep a grin off her face. “Right,” she says. “Awesome. Maybe this Friday?”

Jemma thinks for a moment - she usually goes for drinks with Bobbi and Fitz and the rest of their lab group on Fridays, but Skye is an order of magnitude more appealing. “Friday, yeah.” 

“Great,” Skye says, and Jemma’s not quite sure, but she thinks she catches Skye’s gaze flick down to her mouth and back up. 

“Right,” Jemma says back. “Shall I meet you here, or -?” 

“Yeah, here is good,” Skye says, nodding like she’s already got this planned out. 

It’s not until a new customer walks in, ringing the bell above the door in a way that suddenly seems startlingly loud, that Skye moves away from the counter to get Jemma’s tea.


	2. bring along yourself and don't forget that smile

Everything’s fine up until Friday, the day she’s actually supposed to go out with Skye. 

They’re not meeting until eight at night, but Jemma wakes up nervous. She feels jittery all day, restless with too much energy. Her hands shake while she’s changing her pipette tips, and she drops her pen so many times that Fitz turns way from his workstation to give her a _look._

“Someone’s odd today,” he says, in a voice that sounds genuinely concerned. “Is everything alright?”

She cares about Fitz - of course she does, they’ve been lab partners since they’ve been doing science, and even now he lives in the apartment across the hall from her; he’s basically her brother. But Skye, and this - having something that’s maybe a date with her, maybe liking her - feels precious and special. She doesn’t want to tell him just yet (doesn’t want him to whistle and say _Jemma’s got a girl_ the way he always does when she sees someone new, even if it’s completely factually inaccurate becuase she’s not _dating_ right now. He never did understand about that). 

“Everything’s fine,” she says. He raises his eyebrows in a way that says he doesn’t believe her one bit, so she adds, “I had some coffee this morning instead of tea. I think it’s making me a little jumpy.” 

“Right,” he says, turning back to his own work. 

Somehow, she makes it through until the end of the day. Getting to 5:00 without accidentally poisoning herself or ruining data is agony, and she keeps stopping to drop things or daydream or fret about whether or not she’ll have anything to say. 

At 5:01 she’s out the door, everything arranged so that she doesn’t need to be in the lab until after the weekend. 

 

+

 

She’s ready at Eagle Coffee at 7:55, already nervous. The shop is closed, so she waits outside, leaning against the windowsill and trying to look like she’s calm. She changed her shirt three times before leaving the house, and she frets with the hem nervously, hoping she chose the right one. 

Skye meets her at 8:02. She looks _gorgeous._

Her outfit is completely different from what she usually wears to work, but also completely _her_. She’s dressed up in skinny jeans and a silky-looking button-down shirt, the kind that hangs over her hips in just the right way. She’s pulled it all together with a _tie_ , and those little Oxford shoes, and her hair is down, falling in dark waves around her shoulders. Jemma tries very hard not to think about burying her nose in it and kissing Skye’s neck. 

She feels awkward, like she should somehow look cooler, like her clothes aren’t quite right (even though Bobbi helped her pick them out and told her she looked _absolutely like someone the girl at the coffee place would have sex with_ at least twice). She brushes imaginary lint off the front of her skirt, self-consciously. But then Skye takes a look at her - a long one - and her face breaks into this expression Jemma hasn’t seen before, very appreciative and a little bit hungry. That helps.

“Hey,” Skye says, smiling. She’s wearing something on her lips that makes them darker, and it’s all Jemma can do not to lean in and kiss it right off. “Someone cleans up nice.”

Jemma feels herself blush. “Thank you.” she says. “You look very nice, yourself.” 

Skye preens a little at the compliment, standing a bit taller. She offers her arm, like a gentleman, and oh god if Jemma thought she had butterflies before, it’s twice as bad now. “Shall we?” she says.

Jemma hears herself giggle. “I suppose we shall.” 

Skye has a place in mind, and they walk there, arm in arm. Skye’s arm is strong and warm under Jemma’s hands, and she smells _amazing_. She tells Jemma stories while they walk - about a particular house on one corner that a friend of hers lives in, about a competing coffee house that used to employ someone who’d competed in the World Barista Championship. By the time they make it to the bar, Jemma’s almost forgotten to be nervous. 

The place Skye takes her looks divey from the outside - a bar called Lola's set in the basement of an older building - but inside it’s lovely. The interior is all wood and tastefully over-the-top hipster decor, the space is small but not crowded. They end up at a corner table, and it’s the sort of place with a bar but also a _drinks menu_ , full of oddly named, delicious-sounding cocktails. 

Jemma scans the list, quietly horrified at the idea of paying more than $10 for a drink, _handcrafted artisanal cocktail_ or no. “What do you think?” Skye asks, and Jemma can’t tell if she means the bar or the menu or her. She hesitates, not sure how to answer. 

Skye leans in, sliding her finger down the side of Jemma’s menu until she’s pointing at the last cocktail on the list. _Fury’s Orders._ “You have to try this one, I think you’ll love it.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks, making a face. The ingredients are half things she recognizes ( _bourbon, bitters_ ) and half things she’s never heard of before, but Skye’s looking at her like trying this drink is the most important thing in the world, and suddenly she really wants to. 

“It’s worth the disposable income, I promise,” she says, and then she winks. It should be tacky, it should make Jemma roll her eyes, but instead it gives her butterflies. 

 

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Jemma asks. They’re on drink number two, working through a basket of the best fries Jemma’s ever eaten.

Skye is flirting - Jemma _knows_ she’s flirting - looking at Jemma from across the table like she wants to eat her up. She’s caught Skye halfway to her drink, and Skye makes a point of taking a sip, licking her lips, just because she knows Jemma’s watching. “Hmm, something you don’t know.” She looks up at the ceiling, feigning thoughtfulness, then smiles. “I have a superpower.” 

It’s ridiculous, and Jemma feels comfortable enough that she sighs and quirks an eyebrow the way she would with Fitz or Bobbi, says, “That’s a line.”

“It’s not,” Skye says, laughing.

“Are you sure? Because it sounds like it might be a line.”

“It’s not a line. I mean it is, it’s just - it’s not like that.” Jemma’s not impressed, and it shows on her face for a moment. But then something happens - Skye switches from that girl with so much swagger to someone a little shy, just for a moment. “I’m trying to impress you, okay? Just go with it.” 

Jemma blushes, suddenly feeling awkward again. She doesn’t want to make Skye uncomfortable, ever, she really doesn’t. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to - what is it? Your superpower, I mean.”

Skye smiles - an earnest one, now. “I’m really good at bass.”

Jemma frowns. “Oh, do you play?”

Skye chuckles, this low sound that makes Jemma need to suppress a shiver. “No, like the sound category. There’s something about the vibrations, I - it’s hard to explain. I sort of have a feel for them. I should show you sometime.”

“Now _that_ is a line.”

“Maybe a little.” Skye says, and ducks her head, blushing. “But not totally. I’m - I really want to be a sound engineer, so I don’t have to sling espresso forever. And I’m good at it, it’s just hard to break into. There’s this guy who’s a regular at Eagle, Lincoln, he’s got a couple connections at some clubs around town.”

“That really is something I didn’t know about you,” Jemma says, and she’s sure her smile is silly, too wide, but she doesn’t care. “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

 

It’s a bit later in the evening before Skye turns her question back at her: “Tell me something I don’t know about _you._ ”

It takes Jemma a while to think. Because Skye really is easy to talk to, and they’ve talked about so much - how she ended up coming to America, her thesis topics, Bobbi - the only thing left is something she really doesn’t want to talk about. “I don’t date,” she finally says. 

Skye laughs. “I find that hard to believe. You’re pretty awesome.”

Jemma fights the shy smile she knows is already on her face, trying to ignore the compliment and press on. “No, I mean I - there was a relationship. An important one. It ended a year ago, but it was really, really awful, and it set me back on my work by a few months. And since then, I haven’t - I don’t date.” 

She hears Skye say, “Oh, I see,” and there’s enough disappointment in her voice that Jemma doesn’t look up. 

“It’s really important to me that I finish my thesis on schedule, and it’s hard to - I have trouble fitting relationships into that.” 

“Right,” Skye says, and now Jemma does look up. The expression on Skye’s face is searching, like she’s trying to reconcile the Jemma who doesn’t date and the Jemma who blushes every time Skye looks her way. 

“But, I think you’re wonderful,” Jemma says. “And I’m having a really great time tonight.”

Skye frowns for a moment longer, and then things click into place. Skye leans in, rubs her thumb across the back of Jemma’s hand. "Oh, yeah?"

Jemma licks her lips, despite herself. "Yeah." 

They settle the tab soon after that. 

 

+

 

The walk back to Eagle Coffee is different than the walk out. Everything feels electric, now, and when they leave Lola’s, Skye reaches out and laces her fingers together with Jemma’s. She still smells amazing, like citrus and bourbon and shampoo. It takes them twice as long to get back, and Jemma’s glad for it. She wants to spend as much time as she can like this, next to Skye with her heart fluttering behind her ribs. 

When they finally make it back to Eagle, it hardly looks like itself. The street and the shop look different in the dark, the quiet is a sharp contrast to the gentle liveliness of the space during the day. 

“Anyway,” Skye says. 

“Right,” Jemma says back. She can’t stop thinking about Skye’s mouth, and now that they’ve stopped walking, she seems startlingly close. 

“I guess this is goodnight,” Skye whispers, but her mouth is curling into a smile and she’s leaning in and then finally - _finally_ \- she’s got one arm around Jemma’s waist and Jemma’s sighing in anticipation and they’re kissing. 

Her mouth is so soft, and Jemma tries to stay chaste, to kiss back like a lady. But Skye is so warm, and that arm around her waist is strong and Jemma feels like she’s on fire from this already. She parts her lips, and Skye sighs against her, and all of Jemma’s chaste ideas melt away. 

Instead, she whimpers, tugging at Skye’s lapels. Before either of them has quite had time to think, Jemma’s back is against something - the door, maybe - and then they’re kissing in an altogether different way. Skye is suddenly everywhere, all hips and mouth and slippery tongue against Jemma’s lips until she’s breathless, liquid. When Skye pulls away, her lipstick is smeared purple across her mouth and she’s panting, pupils blown. 

Jemma whispers, “Walk me home?”

Skye smiles, wolfish and wide, staring right at Jemma’s mouth. “I thought you didn’t date.” 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to walk me home.”

Skye gives Jemma that look again, that head-to-toe once-over. “Right,” she says. 

 

+

 

Skye walks her home. 

It takes a little while, and maybe that’s because Skye’s arm keeps brushing against Jemma’s and Jemma keeps thinking about Skye’s lips and then they end up kissing again. 

They make it to Jemma’s building, and there’s two flights of stairs and then a hallway to her apartment. Skye kisses her against the mailboxes in the lobby, and again in the stairwell, and then they’re almost there, standing in front of her apartment door. 

But the thing is, Skye smells so _good_ , and her hair is all mussed from Jemma’s hands running through it, and then Jemma’s pressed up against the door across the hall from her. She winces inwardly, just a little, because that’s Fitz’s door and he’ll _know_ (he always knows), but Skye’s mouth is amazing and there are teeth and lips and tongue and Jemma can’t help herself. Skye licks into her mouth, and Jemma shivers against her. She feels her hips jut forward, instinctively, and then Skye’s thigh is there to hold her steady and that’s - _oh._ That’s _good._ She groans, and the sound brings her back to where they are right now. Hallway. Apartment. _Fitz._

Jemma pulls away, trying not to look at Skye with her eyes dark, lipstick all kissed away, being attractive. She fumbles for her keys, walks the three feet across the hall to her own apartment door. It takes her three tries to open it, and maybe that’s because her hands are shaking, maybe that’s because Skye is wrapped around her back, breath hot against her shoulder. 

Once they door opens, they tumble inside and Skye slams her against the inside of it, all hands and teeth and twice as insistent as before. “So this is your place,” she murmurs against the side of Jemma’s jaw. 

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses back. 

“Do you have a roommate?” she asks. Her hands are in Jemma’s hair, and she’s scraping her nails across her scalp, gentle and teasing and it’s so much sensation that she can hardly process anything else. 

“No,” she finally manages. 

“So we’ve got the place to ourselves?” Skye asks. Her mouth is on Jemma’s collarbone, and she’s leaving sharp kisses that make Jemma’s eyes flutter closed. 

“Yes,” Jemma whispers, tangles her hands in Skye’s hair a little more roughly than she means to. But she wants, wants so _much_ and Skye is beautiful and she feels like they’ve been waiting to do this for months. 

“Okay.” 

Jemma takes Skye by the hand, walking toward the bedroom on shaky legs. They get stuck at the doorway, partly to kick their shoes off but also because Skye needs to press her against the doorframe and run her hands along the length of Jemma’s body, from her shoulders to her thighs. She slides her hands up, catching Jemma’s skirt as she goes until it’s bunched around her waist. “Is this okay?” she mumbles against Jemma’s throat. 

Skye is completely still, waiting for a reply, and it’s - okay, it’s good. It’s Skye making sure she’s ready, and that’s important. But Jemma feels like she’s on _fire_ right now, liquid and aching to be touched. It’s hard to think about words when she wants so _much_. “Yes,” she manages, arching forward against Skye’s body and almost - _almost_ \- finding the contact she wants. “Yes, _please._ ”

Skye makes this sound, this groaning, eager noise that she buries in Jemma’s neck. She’s kissing her there, kissing _rough_ in a way that feels like it’ll leave marks but it’s so, so good. 

They tumble together onto the bed, Jemma on her back with her knees dangling over the side. Skye’s still standing, but she’s leaning in close against Jemma’s body, hands fumbling at the waistband of her underwear. She ends up tugging them half-off, low enough that she can fit one hand in and press it against Jemma’s sex. Jemma’s moan is embarrassingly loud. But then that stops mattering, because Skye is touching her properly, fingertips against her clit and Jemma’s so wet for her that she can hardly stand it. 

She’s eager - too eager, just eager enough - and it’s not long at all before she’s whimpering, grinding down against her hand, shuddering out her orgasm. 

“Fuck,” Skye whispers, voice rough and thick with arousal. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Jemma hums something that’s supposed to be _thank you_ but comes out as nonsense. Everything is fuzzy, dreamy, her whole body sated but not quite sated _enough._

Dimly, she’s aware of Skye slipping her underwear all the way off, letting it fall to the floor. She doesn’t think too much about what that might mean, until there’s touch on her inner thigh and she realizes that Skye is tracing shapes there, teasing. “Do you want more?” Skye murmurs, and yes, Jemma wants more, she very wants more.

She hums out an _mmhmm_ , hoping that Skye will interpret it in the affirmative. 

“Yeah?” she murmurs, kissing down to the hem of her shirt. She pulls until Jemma’s shirt is hiked up around her underarms, reaches back and Jemma sits up a little to give Skye access to her bra. She undoes the clasp and it loosens enough for her to slide a hand under the band, palm Jemma’s breast. She gasps, arching up at the contact and already eager for more. 

“ _Yes_ ” she hears herself say, and she’s so far gone that her voice is this needy, whimpering sound. 

Skye kisses her way across Jemma’s breasts, down her belly, and then she’s kneeling next to the bed and her mouth is at Jemma’s cunt and there’s _tongue_ and oh, oh, it feels amazing. She’s amazing. Jemma’s so close already, so worked up, and she tangles one hand in Skye’s hair and digs her nails into the sheets with the other. She feels hyperaware of Skye’s every movement, every flick of Skye’s tongue against her. This time when she comes, it makes her see stars, every part of her shuddering against Skye’s mouth. 

It takes Jemma a little while longer to recover, the second time around. She feels dazed, like her mouth doesn’t work, like her legs won’t work. But Skye is patient, and unbelievably sweet. She curls next to Jemma on the bed, presses soft, sweet kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks until she’s come down. 

“You are _very_ good at that,” Jemma says, and then winces at the ridiculousness of it. Who _says_ that, honestly. _Thank you for being excellent at sex._

But Skye is blushing a little bit, like maybe that was the right thing to say after all. “Thank you,” she says. 

Jemma sits up and takes stock - she’s incredibly disheveled, skirt and shirt hiked up and tangled around her body. She takes off her shirt and her bra, undoes her skirt, so that she’s properly undressed. Skye’s eyes go wide. She looks so _into_ this, pupils wide and dark, looking up and down Jemma’s body like she can’t decide what to stare at first. 

Jemma leans in, and starts to work at the knot of Skye’s tie. She slides it undone as slowly as she can, until Skye’s attention is resting on her face. Once her tie is off, Jemma starts on the top button of her shirt. Skye swallows, and Jemma can feel it against her fingertips as she spreads the collar wide, moves to the next button.

As slowly as she can stand, Jemma undoes Skye’s shirt completely, then slides it off her shoulders. She tries not to stare too much, but Skye’s breasts are perfect and she’s wearing a fancy bra and her skin is gorgeous. She can’t quite help herself. After a while, her gaze moves to Skye’s arms, paying special attention to the left side, with the tattoo. She can see it now - a shield and roses and a bird that might be a raven or an eagle, wings spread wide and reaching down to her forearm. She traces the lines of it with her fingertip, presses a kiss to her bicep overtop of the ink. “I like it,” she says.

“Thanks.”

Jemma runs a hand down Skye’s body, from her shoulder and down her sternum and down her belly, feeling the muscle there. She’s trying not to go too quickly, trying to give Skye time to enjoy herself, but god she wants to touch her _everywhere_ , all at once. When she looks up, Skye’s undone the clasp of her own bra and she’s waiting, looking at Jemma, eyes dark. Maybe Jemma isn’t the only one feeling eager tonight. 

They shimmy up the bed together, and Jemma slides Skye’s bra off and god, her _breasts_. She leans in and kisses as much as she can, her collarbone and throat and all across her chest, nipping and suckling until she hears Skye whimper, high and needy. Skye arches her hips, asking for contact, but Jemma isn’t _done_. She slides her knee between Skye’s legs, adjusting herself until her thigh is leaning against Skye’s cunt. She feels Skye sigh at the contact, but every time Jemma presses her mouth to skin she feels Skye grind against her, asking for more. 

They take her jeans off together, Jemma at the fly and Skye lifting herself up and shimmying out of them, taking her underwear off at the same time. 

Then Skye is naked, and Jemma just wants to press herself against her body, all the time, forever. She’s gorgeous, she’s so gorgeous, Jemma can hardly stand it. 

She presses a kiss to Skye’s hipbones, then lower down, until her tongue is slipping against Skye’s clit and it’s obviously what she’s been waiting for, because Skye cries out in response. She licks until Skye is moaning, and then slides one, then two fingers inside her. Skye, to her surprise, grinds down against her hand, burying Jemma’s fingers knuckle-deep inside her. The sound she makes is breathtaking, a low moan that says she’s close, that says she _likes_ this, that says _more._

Jemma curls her fingers forward, finding the spot that makes Skye moan like that again. She glances up, and it’s just the right moment to catch the expanse of Skye’s body, hipbones and breasts. She thrusts again, fingers angled just right, and Skye arches up, eyes wide and hair tangled around her shoulders as her jaw goes slack. Then she’s clenching around Jemma’s hand, liquid heat and shuddery moans and it’s amazing. It’s perfect. She’s beautiful.

Jemma tries to move up the bed slowly, to give Skye time to come down, but she’s so gorgeous - cheeks flushed, eyes closed, hair mussed - that she can’t help but cuddle against her. She kisses her breasts, her shoulders, her face, smooths the hair away from her forehead. It’s a long while before Skye’s eyes open, and when she sees Jemma there, she smiles. “Hey, you,” she says. Her voice sounds raw, hoarse, and the sound of it sends a thrill down Jemma’s spine. 

“Hi,” Jemma whispers back. Part of Skye’s fringe has fallen across her eyes again, and she reaches out to brush it to the side. 

Jemma’s always had trouble with this part, the things after sex. 

She knows what to do when she’s in a relationship, that part is easy. But when it’s just _this_ , just sex, she’s not quite sure about the etiquette for things like cuddling and all the rest. Fortunately, Skye makes things easy. She rolls over and sort of lands on top of Jemma, one leg slung over her hip, head tucked into the curve where Jemma’s neck meets her shoulder. 

They stay like that for a long while, Skye occasionally reaching up to drag her fingers through Jemma’s hair, working out tangles. It’s really nice, she has to admit, and before long she starts to notice herself growing heavy-eyed, drifting. Skye kisses her cheek, rousing her slightly. “Hey,” she says. “Did you want me to stay, or -“

“Yes,” Jemma says, too quickly. “If you want to. You don’t have to -“

“I mean, I’d like to. If you want.”

Jemma feels suddenly warm, from her chest outward. “I do want. I mean, I’d like it.”

“Okay,” Skye says, and works her way under the covers. Jemma arranges herself against Skye’s body, tentatively at first until Skye pulls her close, encouraging her to settle with her head aganst Skye’s chest. The sound of Skye’s breath is loud against her ear, and her arms are strong against Jemma’s back. She listens to the sound of Skye’s breath, and counts until she drifts off to sleep. 

 

+

 

The next thing she’s aware of is Skye, stroking her hair. There’s something beeping from across the room, loud and foreign, and it makes her eyes fly open. She catches sight of the clock beside her bed, and realizes that it’s noon. 

She hasn’t slept in until noon in _months._

“Hey,” Skye whispers, stroking Jemma’s cheek with her fingertips. “I need to get up. My alarm’s going, I think I left my phone in my jeans.” 

Jemma murmurs something in the affirmative and rolls over, freeing Skye. She leaves her eyes half-open, appreciating the sight of Skye - still naked, all long legs and gorgeous backside as she crouches to figure out which of the piles of clothing on the floor contains her jeans. She finds her phone and the beeping stops, leaving them in glorious quiet.

Skye turns, standing and scrolling through her phone. She’s naked from the front, too, and Jemma lets herself appreciate the sight of her. Somehow, she looks even better than she did last night. Her hair is sleep-mussed in a way that suits her, and her eyeliner is smudged in a way that looks attractive, rather than raccoon-ish. Jemma catches herself licking her lips. 

Skye looks up from her phone, suddenly realizing that Jemma’s been watching. “Oh,” she says, like she’s just remembered her own nakedness. “Right. Good morning.” 

She hooks her toe underneath some white fabric on the floor - her shirt from the night before - and shrugs it on, fastening the most relevant buttons. “Good morning,” Jemma says, stretching lazily. 

“How was - did you sleep okay?”

“Yes,” Jemma says, more eagerly than she means. “I must have been very tired.” 

Skye looks away, smiling sheepishly at her toes. “Good,” she says. “That’s really good. I, uh, slept great, too.” 

Jemma slides out of bed, retrieving a t-shirt and some fresh underwear from her dresser. She doesn’t miss the way Skye watches appreciatively as she pulls her shirt over her head. “Are you, um - if you’re hungry I have a few things. Or I could make tea.”

Skye is looking for her clothes, and she finishes buttoning her jeans as she answers, “Um, I’m actually sort of late.”

“Oh,” Jemma says, trying not to sound disappointed. 

Skye crosses the room and leans into her, letting her hands run aross the backs of Jemma’s thighs, the curve of her bottom. “Not this-is-a-line late, I swear. I actually have a thing. I was talking with Lincoln - that guy with the club - and he wanted to meet today to talk about a job. I didn’t think I’d be doing anything this afternoon, or I would have -” 

“No, no, it’s fine. Work is important.” She means it - work comes first - but there’s a part of her that wishes Skye would stay, all the same. 

“Yeah?”

Jemma nods. “Absolutely. Go, have a good meeting. I insist.”

Skye breaks into a smile, so sweet and so pleased. Jemma’s not sure why that makes her heart race so much, but it does.

Jemma walks her to the door, and just before Skye turns the handle she pulls Jemma into one last kiss. Kissing her is just as wonderful as it was last night, and Jemma presses her body against the length of Skye’s, taking in every last sensation. When they break apart, Skye’s lips are dark and slick and she’s staring at Jemma’s mouth like she’s not thinking about work at all. 

“I had a lovely time last night,” Jemma whispers. As soon as she says it, she winces in embarrassment. 

“Me too,” Skye says, lips curling into something hungry. 

She steals one last kiss before she leaves, and then it’s Jemma, alone, leaning against the inside of her apartment door. She takes a long, deep breath, and waits for her pulse to slow. 

When she feels mostly normal, she sets to picking up the discarded clothes from the night before. Eventually, she finds her own phone (tucked into the pocket of her skirt, discarded in the hallway). When she checks the screen, she finds approximately thirty text message notifications, all from Bobbi, all sent between ten and three. They begin with _How’s your date goinggggg? ;D ;D_ and escalate in cheekiness, ending with _you’d better be ignoring my texts because Coffee Shop Girl has her hand in your pants. Have fun getting laid!_ , and then a screen full of incredibly rude hand gesture emojis. 

Jemma shakes her head, sighing to herself. Bobbi is her best friend for a reason. She slouches down onto the couch and texts back. 

_\- You are so inappropriate. Call me when you wake up. ;)_


	3. we've got one thing in common (it's this tongue of mine)

Bobbi doesn’t bother calling. Instead, she arrives at Jemma’s apartment that night, holding a pizza. She’s carrying a backpack, and Jemma would be willing to bet money that it’s holding a six-pack of beer and some DVDs. 

“Bobbi,” she says. She’s a little surprised - unexpected visits with pizza are usually something she can expect when Bobbi and Lance are on the rocks, but she’d thought they were doing well. “Hello.”

Bobbi shrugs, already inviting herself in. “Lance and I broke up again.”

“Oh, Bobbi, I’m so -“ 

She doesn’t even have a chance to finish before Bobbi cuts her off with the usual reply: “He’s a dumbass.” But then, she sets the pizza down on the counter, pulls the expected six-pack out of her backpack, and whirls to face Jemma. “Anyway, _you_ are going to tell me all about your hot date, and then I am going to feel better.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

Bobbi sighs, rolls her eyes. “Come on. You didn’t answer any of my texts, I _know_ it was a good night.” 

Somehow, her tone manages to make _good night_ an obscene phrase, and Jemma feels herself blush. She does want to tell Bobbi all about it - she tells her everything, especially since she and Fitz had that falling out last year - but now that she’s actually faced with doing so, she feels shy. Like she wants to keep things to herself, like telling Bobbi will make it less special, somehow. “Perhaps,” she manages, reaching for a slice of pizza. 

Bobbi grins, says, “Good for _you_ ,” as she opens a beer for each of them. “So, you met up at eight?”

“Yes.” Jemma says. She’s not trying to be cagey, but she doesn’t know how to explain things like the way Skye looked in her shirt, or the way she tasted, without seeming - something. Too interested in her. Too smitten. 

“And your date ended when, exactly?”

“It wasn't a date, we were just -"

Bobbi gives her a _look_ over her beer bottle, just short of rolling her eyes again. “Fine, your hot platonic sex liason, or whatever you’re calling them.”

“Just after noon.”

She laughs, and hits Jemma in the arm, delighted. It lands a bit too hard - she does martial arts in her spare time, and all the training has made her _strong_. “Jemma Simmons, you _stud_.” 

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “Well.” 

“Come on, you earned it.” 

“I don’t know about earned it, but - it was certainly nice.”

“Nice?” Bobbi asks, leaning in. Jemma has always drawn the line at recounting her evenings in detail, but Bobbi’s looking at her like she knows exactly what she did, all the same. 

Jemma feels her face grow hot again. “Very nice,” she says, and Bobbi looks like she’s about four seconds away from offering her a high five. “What about you,” she says, hoping to steer the conversation away from her sex life. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Bobbi sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just - how about we watch dumb nineties movies tonight, and I’ll tell you about it tomorrow?”

She pulls a copy of _A Knight’s Tale_ out of her bag - as if Jemma doesn’t have her own copy - and they settle on the couch to watch together. 

 

+

 

The rest of the weekend passes uneventfully. Jemma doesn’t hear from Skye, but she also doesn’t go looking - she has reading to do to prep for the week ahead, and Bobbi to check in with. She goes to bed exhausted on Sunday, enough that she lets herself sleep in a little on Monday morning. 

She ends up getting to work late, quarter past nine instead of her usual eight sharp. Fitz is already there, working on his latest prototype. 

The moment she walks in, he sets down his screwdriver and turns in his chair. “Someone's got a new man.”

He has this particular expression, the one he always wears when he's working through a new puzzle. It's focused, sharp - and he's training the full weight of it on Jemma. Damn him. She sets down her things, trying to look as innocent as possible. "No, I don't."

Fitz narrows his eyes. "Then someone's got a new _girl_ ," he says. He lets the word drag out until it rhymes with _squirrel_ , long and Scottish and damning.

She sighs, beaten. She thinks about lying, but she's always been so terrible at it, and Fitz knows her well enough to spot it right away. "It's not like that," she starts.

But Fitz is already snapping his fingers, far too pleased with his victory. "I knew it. You were all twitchy and off on Friday -"

"I was not _twitchy_."

"Plus, you're late."

"Nine o'clock is a perfectly respectable time to start the workday, I don't know what you're -"

"Oh, please, miss 'I slept in until seven fifteen and now I'm an academic failure,' don't be ridiculous." He crosses his arms, staring at her like he's just solved the Grand Unification Theory. "You never come in after nine unless you’ve had someone over, I _knew_ that was you.”

“I am allowed to have a private life, you know.” Jemma moves to her workstation, pulling supplies for her latest assay. If Fitz is going to be so very _himself_ about this - which is nothing more than two consenting adults enjoying each other's company, _honestly_ \- she might as well get some work done.

“Yes, and I’m allowed to sleep on the weekend without being disturbed by your sex caterwauling.”

Jemma freezes, suddenly horrified. She remembers herself pressed against his apartment door, under Skye, her hands -

She takes a breath, recovering. "I do not _caterwaul_ , Fitz, good lord.”

“Well, then it must have been someone else who woke me up at three in the bloody morning,” he grumbles. It almost sounds like he’s done, but then he starts in, imitating her in that falsetto she _hates_. It’s awful, but the worst part is that it’s not inacccurate; he manages to reproduce the exact sort of moan Skye makes right when she comes, the quiet sigh before she moans and suddenly Jemma remembers her, breasts bare, grinding against her mouth.

She picks up the nearest thing at hand - her jacket - and throws it at him. She knows she's blushing furiously, can feel it from the tips of her ears to her chest. He catches it, but only just. “Leopold Fitz you are _awful_ ,” she says, trying her best to sound imperious. Really, it just comes off as what she is, mortified and a little flustered.

He turns back to his workstation, setting up his laptop as though he's going to leave her be. She knows him, though, knows there's one last retort he's saving. It's a few beats before he gets in his last word: "From what I hear, you're _fantastic_."

 

+

 

Jemma does her best not to think about Skye again until the end of the day, and nearly manages it. She goes to Eagle Coffee to write out of habit, and it doesn’t occur to her that it’s Skye’s day to work until she gets to the counter and sees her there.

Jemma freezes. It’s not - she doesn’t mind seeing Skye. She’d like to see Skye a lot more. But she can’t stop thinking about the feel of Skye clenching around her hand, the way she sighed against her collarbone and the fact that there are still marks from her on Jemma’s skin, bruised purple. Skye stops when she sees Jemma, and her ears go a little bit pink, like maybe she’s thinking the same thing.

“Hey, you,” she says.

Jemma blushes all the way down her body. “Hey, you,” she says back, and _god_ she wishes she didn’t have to look quite as smitten as she feels.

“So, I think that today, you’re in the mood for a latte,” Skye says. And then she _winks_ again, and Jemma feels herself get _hot_. Skye’s really good at winking.

“I am?” she manages.

“You are.”

Skye goes to the bar while Jemma counts out correct change, and she notices that even though her drink is finished, Skye lingers next to the cup she’s prepared. She waits for Jemma to come to her, and it’s not until she gets close that she realizes there’s a perfect heart poured into the foam.

Skye’s grinning at her. “I had a really good time last night.”

“I gathered as much.”

“Could we do that again sometime?” she asks.

And she’s not saying _go out_ , she’s not saying _date_ , and there are parts of Jemma’s body that are practically demanding that they do _that_ again, sometime. Possibly several times. So Jemma says, “Sure. As friends?”

Skye looks her up and down, licks her lips. “Yeah, as friends.”

Then she slides a slip of paper across the bar, leaves it next to Jemma’s cup. “Look, this is my number. Send me a text if you want to hang out again.”

Jemma gets to her table and enters the number into her phone, triple-checking to make sure it's correct. She has a sudden urge to add an emoji next to Skye's name - one that Bobbi would be proud of - but she resists it.

Instead, she sends a text.

_\- Hey, this is Jemma. Now you have my number, too. :D_

She watches as Skye notices her phone buzz, and pulls it out of her back pocket to check the screen. As she reads the display, a smile spreads across her face - happy, and maybe a little bit bashful. She looks up at Jemma and meets her eyes, briefly, that smile now directed at her. It makes Jemma’s heart do an odd sort of leap in her chest, and she’s not thinking about that, because Skye isn’t her girlfriend, she’s _not_. 

It takes a lot of effort before she’s able to focus on the undergraduate lab reports she’s supposed to finish grading, but she manages. 

 

+

 

She doesn’t hear from Skye at all that day, or the next. 

Which is fine, because - it’s fine. They had some drinks, and some very excellent sex, but that doesn’t mean either of them are under any obligation to follow up. It’s a little disappointing, because Jemma really did like spending time at Eagle and that might get a little awkward if Skye doesn’t want to see her again. And she did find Skye easy to talk to, and very interesting.

But in the end, it’s no grand loss. (Even if there was that one night she dreamt about Skye and woke up in the middle of the night, thighs wet and heart fluttering. Even if she can’t quite get the taste of her out of her mouth. It’s fine.)

Three days later, she’s at the lab, working alone. Fitz is off in his monthly project meeting with Doctor Coulson, and she’s alone testing out a new protocol. She’s in the middle of a moderately complicated crystallization, half-paying attention to her work and half-texting with Bobbi. (She and Lance may or may not be back on, but she's giving Jemma a play-by-play of the extensive, dramatic apologies he’s attempting this time around.) When her phone chirps at her from the lab bench, she picks it up, expecting to scan the display for a follow-up text from Bobbi. Instead, the display reads _Skye,_ and Jemma feels a sudden jolt.

_\- Happy Thursday. How are you celebrating?_

There’s an emoji at the end of the text, a little winking face. 

She freezes, not sure how to reply. She’s pretty sure there are rules about this - about when you reply to texts, and how soon, and things like that - but she needs time to think about how she wants to answer. And besides, in thirty seconds she needs to add solvent and rinse and transfer her solution to crystallize, and unlike Skye’s message, that’s time-sensitive. 

Once she’s completed the next four steps of her reaction, Skye’s text is still in her phone, mocking her. There are also three texts from Bobbi, two describing Lance’s latest apology and one making fun of his hair, but she flicks to the screen with Skye’s message, first. She types: 

_\- Happy Thursday to you, too. I wasn’t aware that celebration was in order._

There’s a reply back almost immediately. A little emoji with a shocked mouth and wide eyes, then: 

_\- You don’t celebrate!?_

Jemma texts back, _\- Sadly, I do not._

_\- That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.  
\- It’s a very important tradition for my people._

Jemma frowns, texts, _\- Your people?_

_\- Yes. Coffee shop people._ The reply comes with another emoji, a winking face with a stuck-out tongue, in case Jemma wasn’t completely sure that was a joke. 

_\- I see. Speaking of coffee shop people, don’t you have work right now?_

_\- Aww, you know when I work?_ Skye texts back. She sends an emoji blowing a kiss with a little heart. Then,  
 _\- It’s super slow today. I guess everyone knows you’re not here to make the place light up, so they’re staying away._

Jemma blushes. It’s a line - a bad one - but she can picture Skye’s face, the way her smile curves that extra little bit when she’s flirting, and it gets to her all the same. 

_\- Flirt_ , she texts back. 

There’s a bit of a delay in Skye sending a reply, and she sets her phone down to finish her experiment. When she finally sets her glassware out to dry and comes back to her phone, there’s one message waiting for her: 

_\- I seriously can’t believe you don’t celebrate Thursday._

Jemma rolls her eyes. 

_\- How does one traditionally celebrate?_

The reply is immediate. _\- Drinks. ;) Maybe dinner._  
 _\- What do you think?_

Jemma tries not to smile too broadly. She really wants to have more drinks, and maybe dinner, and maybe a lot of other things with Skye. But then she remembers the stack of journal articles next to her bag, the three meetings she has scheduled tomorrow, all of the reading she has to get done between now and then. She was expecting to be awake until midnight tonight before she was offered any extra plans.

_\- I have a lot of reading to get done, actually._   
_\- We have a sort of seminar series for a bunch of the labs in the building, and we all meet tomorrow._

It’s a correct answer, and it’s the responsible answer, and she almost leaves it at that. But then she thinks about Skye’s mouth, looks at that winking emoji, and adds: 

_\- But I could probably manage something low-key. If that’s alright._

Skye texts back right away, a happy smiling emoji and then, _\- Absolutely. I’ll see you tonight._

Jemma sits, staring at her phone. She knows that she’s got a smile on her face, a dopey one, and she’s suddenly incredibly glad that Fitz isn’t in the lab to notice. Her phone buzzes again, three more texts from Bobbi, and she takes a minute to send a message back. 

_\- So, Coffee Shop Girl texted me._

Bobbi’s reply is rapid, and absolutely what Jemma expected. _\- Holy fuck, that is way better than Lance. What did she say?? :D :D_

_\- We’re hanging out tonight.  
\- Do you think I can get away with just reviewing the mandatory articles for Journal Club and not the supplementary readings?_

Bobbi doesn’t send any words back. She just sends a screen full of emojis, the pair of scissors over and over again. It takes Jemma a minute to work it out, but then she wrinkles her nose. 

_-You’re incorrigible._

_\- you love me._

 

+

 

They end up agreeing to meet at Skye’s place, that night. The plan is takeout, but no drinks, because even though it’s a Thursday it’s technically a weeknight, and Jemma needs to be up for journal club in the morning. (It’s Fitz’s day to present, and he’ll _absolutely_ notice and be upset if she misses it.) 

Skye tells her not to bring anything, but Jemma’s incredibly English mother is in the back of her mind, reminding her that _when you’re a guest, it’s only polite to bring something for the host._ Skye doesn’t really seem like the flowers type, so Jemma stops by the organic grocery store and buys a bottle of the hideously-overpriced organic soda. 

Skye’s address turns out to be a little house, tucked away on one of the side streets near campus. It’s close to Eagle, but on the way to the part of downtown where there are clubs and bars. It’s a basement - Skye’s text said to come around the side and go downstairs - but as Jemma gets close, she realizes that the house is set on a hill. The two front windows seem to belong to Skye, and the door is right at ground level. It takes Jemma a few seconds to make herself knock, and she spends a short while standing on the doorstep, trying to convince herself that her sudden urge to triple-check the address isn’t nervousness. 

When she finally does knock, there’s a familiar voice from behind the door that calls out _just a minute_. Which at least means that she doesn’t have to worry about being at the wrong address. 

Skye opens the door, and she’s just as attractive as she was on the weekend. Her hair’s pulled back this time, her fringe still framing her face but the rest of her hair up in a messy bun, showing off the curve of her neck. She’s wearing jeans and one of her plaid shirts, the ones that manage to look oversized and flattering all at the same time. As Skye greets Jemma, her eyes flick up and down, taking in the sight of her, and she breaks into a smile. “Hey,” she says. 

“Hello,” Jemma says back. 

“Come on in.”

She does, hands Skye the bottle of soda. “I just thought I’d bring something, it’s silly.”

Skye smiles again, and takes a look at the label. “No, no, this looks great. Thanks.” 

Skye is still standing close to Jemma, not quite in her personal space but near enough that Jemma’s whole body is aware of her. She wants to kiss her, but they’ve only had the one night together and Jemma’s not sure if they’re at the stage where they kiss hello, or if Skye is the type of person who wants to kiss hello at all. She’s also suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that they’re standing in Skye’s apartment, with the door closed, and Skye is gorgeous. “You’re welcome,” she says. 

“Cool.” Skye’s smiling, not quite moving closer but not quite moving away. She licks her lips, and her eyes flick down to Jemma’s mouth for a moment, and _oh._ Good. It’s that kind of night. 

Skye takes a deep breath in and steps away from Jemma, just slightly. “I hope this wasn’t too far for you, I know your place is a little off campus.”

“No, not at all. Actually, it’s just down the street from the lab.”

“Oh, yeah?” Skye says. She takes a few steps further into the apartment, and Jemma follows. Moving inside, she can see that the living space is sort of one room, the doorway and living room and kitchen each in their own corner. There’s a door that Jemma assumes leads to space with a bed, but she’s trying not to think about that as she follows Skye, toward the kitchen area.

“Yes, I work in the Hub - the Biological Sciences and Technology Building, but everyone on campus calls it -“

“The Hub, I know.” Off Jemma’s surprised look, she winks, then adds, “You work close enough to campus, you pick up a thing or two.”

“Right.” 

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure, yes,” she says. But then she wonders if Skye was just being polite - she’s hungry but not _starving,_ , she doesn’t want to be rude. She quickly follows up with, “I mean, if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah,” Skye says, running a hand through her hair. Jemma’s eyes follow the line of her forearm as it moves up, thinks about Skye’s hands and wrists and how _good_ they are at doing things. She doesn’t realize she’s staring until Skye asks, “You okay?”

“What?” Jemma blushes, horrified at herself. “Yes, yes, sorry.”

“Okay,” Skye says. She’s smiling, like she knows exactly what Jemma was doing, like she’s kind of not too upset about being stared at. “You just spaced out for a second, there.”

Jemma shrugs. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Skye asks. 

Jemma tells her about that, instead - Fitz’s meeting with Doctor Coulson, the new protocol, Bobbi and Lance - and Skye listens. It’s nicer than Jemma would like to admit, having Skye interested in her work. 

As she listens, Skye takes the soda that Jemma brought - ginger ale - and pours it into two wine glasses. It’s a sweet gesture, and from the right angle it almost looks like they’re drinking white wine, which is a nice touch. Jemma likes that Skye is the sort of person who thinks of things like that. She waits until there’s a lull in Jemma’s story to hand her a glass, says, “Your drink, miss,” with a wink and a smile that makes Jemma blush. 

After she’s taken a couple of sips of her drink, Jemma realizes that the apartment smells _amazing_. There are containers stacked on the counter behind Skye, the styrofoam kind that usually come with take-out, and she is pretty hungry. “Is that dinner?” she finally asks, gesturing to the counter. 

Skye turns, hair fanning out across her back as she does. “Yeah, yeah it is. I hope you like Thai, I wasn’t sure if -“

“No, that sounds lovely.”

“Yeah?” Skye asks. Now it’s her turn to go slightly pink, giving Jemma that smile like it’s so _good_ that Jemma likes the same kinds of foods as she does. 

“Yeah,” Jemma whispers, mouth a little dry. 

“There’s this place down the street I really like, I figured maybe you hadn’t tried it.”

“That sounds lovely.” 

Skye arranges the containers for serving, and Jemma does her best not to stare too much at the lines of her arms as she lifts, the shape of her back, the curve of her ass in those skinny jeans she loves so much. She serves Jemma first, then herself, and Jemma finds herself saying, “Oh, this is fantastic,” before she’s even had her first bite. 

Skye shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but she gives Jemma that smile again all the same. “It’s no big deal,” she says. “It’s not like I cooked, or anything.”

“I still appreciate it,” she says. Skye suddenly feels very close, and her lips look just as soft as they did the last time and Jemma wants to kiss her, a lot. 

She doesn’t, because her hands are full and Skye’s hands are full, but her chest feels warm and light and fluttery all the same, stuck in that place of almost-kissing, wanting-to-kiss. It’s not awful. 

Skye is the one who interrupts the moment again, leaning away just slightly. “So,” she says, and Jemma’s nearly sure she sounds a bit breathless. “The thing is I sort of don’t have an actual place to eat with like, chairs. I’m working on it.”

Jemma looks over at the living room area, across from the kitchen. She hadn’t really looked too closely before, but now she realizes that what she thought was a futon couch is actually a collection of cushions, piled between the wall and the coffee table. It works in the space - artsy, rather than concerningly underfurnished - but it’s definitely not furniture. “Oh,” she says. 

“But there’s the coffee table, and I figured we could sit and, I don’t know, you could pretend we’re having a picnic instead of eating in an apartment with someone too lazy to get grown-up furniture.”

“The coffee table sounds perfect,” Jemma says decisively. She means it, but Skye still looks self-conscious, like she’s worried about what Jemma thinks of her home. So she sort of nudges Skye with her elbow, gently, and adds, “Besides, I love picnics.”

That makes Skye relax enough to lead her over to the makeshift seating area. They settle close together, enough that Skye’s toes are touching Jemma’s knee. They eat in silence for a while - the food is excellent, and Jemma is surprisingly hungry. Then, slowly, conversation follows. Skye follows up with questions about Jemma’s lab and her work, and it’s flattering, it’s nice. But every so often, she’ll look at Jemma with those eyes, the ones that say she’s remembering what Jemma looks like naked, and it makes Jemma speechless every time. 

The third time that Jemma gets caught, tongue-tied and blushing, Skye leans in. Her voice is a little rough as she asks, “Can I kiss you right now?”

“Sure,” Jemma whispers back. She’s trying for restraint, but really, she’s been waiting to kiss Skye all day. 

Skye sets her plate down and rises up onto her hands and knees. She leans in, and Jemma barely remembers to put her food to the side before Skye is kissing her, slow and sweet. Her mouth tastes just as good as it did the last time. 

They’ve done this before, but it still feels new, terrifying-exciting as Skye pulls her closer. She’s sitting cross-legged, and Skye is up on her knees and kind of bent over, one hand resting on the carpet and the other at the back of Jemma’s neck, holding her close. It’s gentle, at first, but Jemma sort of sighs against Skye’s mouth and she clearly takes it as a sign to let her kisses grow deeper, more hungry. 

She moves from sweet, chaste kissing to licking into Jemma’s mouth, nipping at her lower lip, and _god_ that just makes Jemma go liquid. She sighs against Skye’s mouth, happy and eager because Skye’s so good at this, at kissing, at everything that comes after. She can feel her body almost humming with anticipation. 

Skye leans forward a little more, shifting her center of gravity so that she’s overtop of Jemma and easing her backwards. Jemma’s more than compliant, ready for all the touch Skye’s willing to give. She ends up on her back, head resting against some pillows, legs on the floor. Skye settles on top of her, kissing and kissing and kissing. 

And the thing is, Skye’s kisses are excellent - more than excellent - but Jemma’s groin is throbbing, demanding more touch than she’s giving right now and that’s suddenly becoming very, very important. She arches up against the length of Skye, whimpering in a way that would be embarrassing if she didn’t _want_ so much. 

Skye picks up on it - not that Jemma’s being subtle - and sort of chuckles against her mouth. She takes Jemma’s wrists and pins them above her head, leaving her to wait and let Skye make the next move. She waits, and god it’s so _difficult_ , as Skye repositions herself so that Jemma’s legs are spread and both of her legs are between them, hips making contact with Jemma’s hips. She grinds down, a little, and Jemma can’t help herself. She gasps and bucks up, because it’s _hot_ and the wrists, the roughness, that’s sort of a _thing_ for her. 

Skye notices - of course she does, it would be hard not to notice the way that Jemma is whimpering and wanton beneath her - and gives Jemma a thoughtful look. She catches her own lower lip between her teeth, pleased and thoughtful, and moves one thigh so that it fits right against Jemma’s cunt. She leans forward again, and this time there’s more contact, even through Jemma’s jeans, and Jemma bucks into it. She’s trying to keep from crying out but she only half-manages it, letting out a shaky, moaning sigh. 

“Yeah?” Skye murmurs. Her expression is a lazy sort of half-smile, eyes dark with arousal and interest and it’s _amazing_ , watching Skye want her like this. 

“Mmhmm,” Jemma says. She’s sure she’s already red-faced, she’s so _hot_ \- but if it’s possible, she blushes even redder. 

“I can work with that,” Skye says. Her voice is appreciative, rough in a way that makes Jemma shudder against her. She runs a hand along Jemma’s hip, over her jeans and then across the waistband and then she hikes up Jemma’s shirt. 

Her fingertips ghost along Jemma’s belly, towards her breasts, and Jemma doesn’t even know how long she’s been waiting for Skye to touch her like this, but now that she is, it’s amazing. She arches against the contact, and every sensation - Skye’s mouth against her belly, her breasts, nails against her lower back - pools between her thighs. She doesn’t just want anymore, she _needs_ , so much.

Skye keeps one hand against Jemma’s wrists but uses the other to work on the button of Jemma’s jeans, easing them open. She leans down, leaving tender, biting kisses across Jemma’s breasts-belly-hipbones, _almost_ where Jemma wants her. It feels like ages before Skye works both hands into the waistband of Jemma’s trousers to pull them down, off. Skye’s mouth disappears for a moment as she slides Jemma’s jeans off her legs, sets them to the side, and Jemma knows she needs to be patient but she can hear herself whimper at the loss of contact, frustrated and needy. 

Finally, she’s naked from the waist down and Skye presses her palm to Jemma’s cunt and it’s _good_ but it’s not enough but she grinds against it just the same, whimpers something that’s supposed to be _yes_ but comes out barely intelligible. Skye slides one finger down to her entrance and up to her clit. “You’re so wet,” she says, with a note of wonder in her voice. “Is that for me?”

Jemma nods, tries to speak but it comes out as moaning, as rocking her hips against Skye’s hand. 

Skye makes an appreciative noise in the back of her throat, and then Jemma stops paying attention because some part of Skye’s hand is at her clit and she’s slipping fingers _inside_ , filling her up, finally hitting the spot that’s been waiting to be touched all night. Jemma cries out, _loudly_ , and grinds down until Skye’s fingers are as deep as they’ll go. They find a rhythm together, Skye’s hand and Jemma’s hips, and after a little while she feels Skye add more fingers, filling her _more_ , until it’s too good and she can barely stand it and then she’s coming, shuddering around and against Skye, over and over until she’s sated. 

Skye touches her until she’s come down, gentle hands aganst her cunt and soft kisses across her breasts, her throat. 

Jemma feels dreamy, exhausted and sated and humming with energy all at once. Her lower back is sore, and vaguely, she wonders if it’s rug burn. Skye is stroking her hair, kissing her. “You okay?” she murmurs against Jemma’s temple.

Jemma sighs out, “Yes, of course.”

“I’m sorry.” Skye murmurs. 

Jemma’s not sure Skye has anything to be sorry for, _ever_. All she can think to say is, “What?”

Skye laughs, kisses Jemma’s cheek. “About the floor - that was probably sort of uncomfortable. I, um. I do have a bed.”

Jemma’s not quite sure how to explain that she enjoyed it, a lot - the phrase _sex caterwauling_ pops into her head, unbidden. She settles on, “Don’t worry. I enjoyed myself.” 

Skye looks away, huffs, “Yeah?” in a pleased sort of tone, like she likes being able to make Jemma _enjoy herself._ “It seemed like you did.” 

Jemma nods, runs her hand down the length of Skye’s back. She settles just above the waistband of her jeans, thumb finding a little slice of bare skin. She drags her nail across, and Skye rewards her by arching into the touch, a little. “If you wanted to show me the bed, though, I’d be very interested.” 

Skye nods at her, eyes dark. She stands first, because she’s still sort of on top of Jemma, and offers her a hand to get up. Once Jemma’s standing, she thinks about walking to the bedroom, but Skye’s hair is all mussed and her mouth is so red and she just needs to kiss her, a little bit. She doesn’t plan to kiss her for very long, but Skye tastes so good and Jemma’s learning that there’s a certain kind of kiss, deep and full of promise, that makes Skye sigh. She feels so _powerful_ doing that, making someone as lovely as Skye want her. 

“So, where’s the bed?” she murmurs. They’re still tangled close together, so much that Jemma’s lips brush against Skye’s cheek as she speaks. 

Skye makes a sound, a sort of sighing, breathless chuckle. “I’ll show you.” 

The bedroom isn’t hard to find. It’s the only other door in Skye’s apartment, and there’s a bed in it. But Skye takes Jemma by the hand and leads her there, all the same. They get a little stuck at the doorframe, because Skye’s hair needs to have Jemma’s hand tangled in it, and there’s a spot on her neck that needs to be kissed. Skye doesn’t seem to mind the delay. 

The bedroom isn’t what Jemma had expected. Well - she doesn’t know what she’d expected, exactly, but it’s different once she’s there. There’s a bed, obviously - most importantly - and a dresser, and some posters on the wall for bands that Jemma’s heard Skye mention. At the bedside, there’s a little figurine, one of those Hawaiian girls playing the ukulele wearing a little plastic ‘grass’ skirt. 

She feels like the things in Skye’s room have stories, and she realizes, with a jolt, that she wants to know them all.

“This is it,” Skye says, a little akwardly, like maybe Jemma’s been staring. 

“It’s lovely.” 

“Yeah?” Skye says. 

Jemma turns back to face her. She’s so beautiful, all of her. Before she can really think about what she’s doing, she reaches up to run a hand through Skye’s hair, brushing it away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “Yeah,” she says back. 

Skye licks her lips again, and her eyes are so dark and so eager, and Jemma suddenly really, really wants to take off her pants. 

She pulls Skye close, one arm around her waist, and buries her mouth in the curve between Skye’s neck and her shoulder, right in the spot that makes Skye sigh. With her other hand, she starts to work at the waistband of her jeans. When she finally has the fly undone, and there’s enough space for her hand to slide down, Skye’s breath catches, like maybe she’s been waiting for this all night, too. Jemma slips her hand in to cup Skye through her underwear, feeling heat and damp cotton. Skye groans into her ear. Jemma doesn’t think she’ll ever be sick of hearing that sound. 

“Maybe I can show you the bed?” Skye says, breathlessly. “Please?”

Jemma nods, and slides Skye’s jeans and underwear down in reply. Skye is the one who kicks them all the way off, removing her shirt and bra at the same time, and then she’s naked and beautiful and Jemma can touch her _everywhere._ She wants to, as well - wants to know all of Skye, wants to take her in and learn her body and never forget. 

Skye arranges herself on the bed so that she’s lying on her back, spread open and waiting for Jemma to join her. 

Jemma moves onto the bed, one knee in the space between Skye’s legs and the other beside her. Skye wraps one arm around her waist, and she’s so into this, so eager for this, but Jemma doesn’t want it to be over, just yet. 

Instead, she takes her time, touching Skye whispery soft against her cheek, her throat, her breasts. She follows with her mouth, teasing kisses that grow more insistent until Skye is moaning, arching off the bed, whispering her name. That _does_ something to Jemma, makes her feel that feeling she doesn’t want to name because she hasn’t felt it in a while. 

She just wants to stay close to Skye forever, is all. 

Jemma moves so that her head is resting against Skye’s chest. She can hear her heart beating, fast and loud against her cheek, and there’s something about the sound that makes Jemma feel oddly centered. She slides one hand down, across the flat expanse of Skye’s belly and between her thighs and she _feels_ the moan against her cheek as well as hearing it. Slowly, she lets her touches turn from teasing to insistent, sliding against Skye’s clit until she tenses, clearly right on the edge. When Skye comes, she cries out, loud and shuddery and all for Jemma. 

Jemma keeps touching, gentle caresses until Skye’s done shaking, until her sighs are sated and lazy. 

After a while, she moves up the bed until her head’s on a pillow and their bodies are mostly lined up. Skye’s still fuzzy, nuzzling towards her in a drowsy way that Jemma associates with her after orgasm. She settles herself against Jemma’s chest, caressing the skin at her sides. Her breath is hot on Jemma’s skin, vaguely ticklish. “Did you want to stay?” Skye murmurs, pressing a kiss to one of the bite-bruises on Jemma’s breast. 

“Hmm,” Jemma says. She’s suddenly exhausted, and Skye is so warm and her bed is so _comfortable,_ she can’t bear the idea of leaving.

“Hey,” Skye whispers, dragging her nails across Jemma’s side with just enough pressure to make her focus. “I just - I know you didn’t want this to be like, a dating thing. And you don’t have to stay, if that’s too much or you’re not comfortable, or whatever.”

Somehow, the fact of Skye asking makes Jemma want to stay even more. She runs a hand through Skye’s hair, stroking her scalp until Skye’s eyes flutter closed and she hums. “I think I’d like to stay. If that’s alright.”

Skye nods, repositions so that she’s the big spoon around Jemma’s side, holding her close. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Mmhmm,” Jemma murmurs, already half-asleep. The last thing she remembers is Skye’s mouth against her ear - or maybe her neck - leaving little, soft kisses against her skin.


	4. body language is something that you learn and you just can't get taught

Jemma wakes with Skye’s arm across her waist, in a room that smells like Skye. She stretches out, lazily, enjoying the slight soreness between her thighs that reminds her of the night before. She reaches to the bedside, searching for her phone to turn off the alarm, but her hand can’t seem to find it. 

It’s then that she realizes - her phone is in the next room, tucked into her pocket. 

She gets out of bed to fetch it - the room feels _freezing_ without Skye and layers of blankets, especially when she’s naked. When she gets there, the screen helpfully reminds her that today is Friday, that she has journal club in an hour. A note under the calendar listing also reminds her that it’s Fitz’s morning to present, in case she’d forgotten. She’s always there for Journal Club - always _early_ , since she’s in charge of taking attendance for Dr. Coulson’s records - and she’s naked and unwashe and absolutely going to be late. 

In the bedroom, Skye stirs, rolls herself over with an arm outstretched, searching for Jemma. When her hand hits the edge of the mattress, she opens her eyes. She’s got this expression on her face, this sleepy frown that’s nothing short of adorable. When she finally catches sight of Jemma, she smiles. “Hey, you,” she says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Come back to bed for a bit.” 

The way Skye says it, she might mean _let’s make out a little_ or she might mean _let’s sleep past noon_. But then she stretches, and the blankets sort of pool around her waist and her breasts are _gorgeous_ and this is the problem with Skye. She keeps making Jemma want things, but important career scientists don’t shirk their responsibilities to roll around in bed with beautiful women. 

At least, if they do, it never makes it into the profiles she reads in scientific journals. 

Jemma sighs, runs a hand through her hair. It feels - well, it doesn’t feel clean, and she’s pretty sure she’ll need to wash before she can go to work. “Can I use your shower?”

Skye chuckles, voice rough from sleep. “Of course,” she says. Then she gets this look on her face, and it’s definitely not a _let’s go back to sleep_ look. “You need any help in there?”

She has a sudden mental image of Skye, looking exactly like she does now but _wet_ , and it’s exactly the opposite of what she needs to be thinking about right now. “No, I - well. In principle, _yes_ , I’d appreciate your company. But I have journal club in less than an hour, and it’s bad enough that I wore these clothes to the lab yesterday and Fitz is going to notice, he notices _everything_ , I don’t want to be smelly as well.” 

Skye sort of smiles, like she gets it. She slides out of bed, and - mercifully - slips into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “No problem,” she says. “Shower’s through here, I’ll get you a fresh towel.”

Jemma showers - alone - and dries off, as efficiently as she can. When she gets out of the bathroom, there’s a t-shirt, sweater, and underwear on the bed that weren’t there before, and the apartment smells like coffee. The clothes look clean, and almost like they’d fit, but Jemma doesn’t want to be presumptuous and wear Skye’s clothes without permission. She carries them out into the kitchen, still wrapped up in a towel. 

Skye is at the counter, making coffee. She’s still in the clothes she pulled on when she got out of bed, and now that Jemma’s not so stressed about making it to work, she notices that the shirt is a little bit see-through, that those shorts do an excellent job of highlighting Skye’s legs. 

“Are these for me?” Jemma asks, gesturing slightly with the hand holding the shirt and the underwear. 

Skye turns, and her expression shifts into something appreciative and a little lustful, like she doesn’t mind seeing Jemma freshly washed and wet-haired. “Yeah, if you want. You don’t have to -“ She shrugs, runs a hand through her hair. “I figured you might want to wear a different outfit if you’re on your way to the lab or whatever, and those are the most ‘you’ things I could find in my closet. I think they’ll fit okay.”

“Oh my goodness, Skye, that would be _incredible_ ,” she says, because it _is_ and _Skye_ is, for being this thoughtful. Skye’s ears go pink, and she rubs at the back of her neck. 

“It’s no big deal.” 

Jemma takes the time to give Skye a kiss on the cheek, quick and chaste. “But it’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” 

She goes to get dressed, tugging on Skye’s underwear (and trying not to think too hard about _that_ ) and her own jeans and Skye’s tops. As she pulls on the t-shirt, she realizes that her hair smells like Skye. Which - it stands to reason, as she just finished using Skye’s shampoo, but there’s something about it that’s very, very nice. 

When she next steps into the kitchen, Skye hands her a travel mug of coffee - Eagle Coffee branded - and a warm paper bag. At Jemma’s frown, she says, “Breakfast. It’s just a bagel and cream cheese, but if you’re hungry -“

Breakfast hadn’t even occurred to her, and it’s so unspeakably sweet that Jemma can’t keep the gratitude out of her voice. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

Skye leans in, and her lips are soft and her hands are gentle against Jemma’s jaw, pulling her into a kiss that’s starts off chaste and sweet and ends with Jemma trying not to drop her things and forget the whole morning. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” Skye asks. Her eyes say something a little more than _see you._

“Yeah,” Jemma manages. 

 

+

 

She gets to journal club late, but only by five minutes. It’s not even _really_ late - they always start at ten after, even though the official time is nine precisely - but it’s certainly later than her usual. She’s acutely aware of all the things that are different about her today - the tiredness around her eyes, her wet hair, the fact that she’s still half-finishing her breakfast as she arrives. Fitz looks up from his notes and raises his eyebrows, clearly _noticing_ , damn him. 

Bobbi notices, too, and by the time Jemma sits down she’s already received several texts. She checks the display - two messages from Skye, one from Bobbi. 

The first message from Skye is text: _\- Have a good day at work, today. I hope you made it on time._ Then, _\- It was great to see you last night._ The second text is capped with an emoji, the little face winking and blowing a kiss. 

Jemma can feel herself blushing down at her phone, and she quickly taps over to Bobbi’s message. The text from Bobbi is three emojis: scissors, kissing lips, and a thumbs-up. Then: _\- Someone totally hooked up with coffee shop girl again. Her shirt looks cute on you._

She looks up from her phone just in time to catch Bobbi wink, unsubtly. It’s obvious enough that it catches Dr. Coulson’s eye, and he coughs disapprovingly at the two of them. “Do you have anything to share with the room, ladies? I believe Mr. Fitz is ready to get started.”

They both shake their heads, _no_ , and listen to the presentation, but Bobbi’s looking at her with that smug, catlike smile, and Jemma’s _sure_ she hasn’t heard the end of it. 

 

+

 

That night is drinks with her lab friends. They have a bit of a standing Friday night tradition - not every week, but at least twice a month, which is closer to what they can manage. It’s always the same group - Jemma and Fitz from the May-Coulson lab, and Bobbi and Mack and Lance from Dr. Gonzales’ lab - and it’s sort of nice to have at least a few nights blocked off to unwind and socialize outside of work.

They have a regular table at The Boiler Room, the grad student pub. They usually meet around nine, and Jemma’s usually excellent about being punctual, but tonight, everyone’s early but her and Fitz. She settles into a free seat between Bobbi and Mack. Lance is up getting the first round - it’s his week, they take turns - but his jacket is draped over the chair on Mack’s other side, as far from Bobbi as he can sit. 

When he comes back with drinks, he says _hello_ to Jemma, but his eyes are clearly only for Bobbi. He’s carrying a pitcher of beer for the table - their usual - and an elaborate-looking pink drink with two slices of pineapple and an umbrella, which he slides toward Bobbi with a hang-dog look. Clearly, they haven’t made up just yet. 

By the time Fitz arrives, everyone is half a glass in. Mack’s in the middle of a story about the new _Mass Effect_ game, something about cars and physics, as Fitz takes his seat and pours a drink for himself. He’s looking at Jemma - he’s been looking at her all day, like he wants to say something but keeps waiting for the right time. He still hasn’t mentioned her lateness this morning, and he hasn’t commented on the sweater she’s wearing that’s clearly not hers, and Jemma knows she’s past due for some kind of comment. 

He waits until there’s a lull in the conversation before declaring to the table, “So, Jemma has a new sex friend.”

“ _Fitz._ ” Jemma says, and she knows that she sounds scandalized and girly but she _is_ a girl, and she _is_ scandalized. She was exepecting him to say something, but not quite _that_.

Fitz grins into his beer. “Well, you do,” he says, almost primly.

Mack is at the first one to speak next and bless him, he’s not obnoxious. “Hey, good for you, Jemma,” he says, and claps her on the back, gently. 

Lance shrugs, says, “Is he cute?”

Fitz sets a hand on Lance’s arm, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “It’s a new lady sex friend.” 

“Ahh,” Lance says, “Is _she_ cute?”

Jemma doesn’t say anything, she just blushes. She wants to crawl underneath the table; she’s always hated scrutiny like this and all of them know it, even if it is in good fun. Lance grins his approval. “Good for you, then.” 

Then he turns to back to Fitz and starts telling him a story about something - he’s very upset and it seems to be related to football - and Mack leans in to join them, and it’s just Jemma and Bobbi at their end of the table. 

Bobbi elbows her, grinning. “So you have a new _sex friend_ , huh?”

“Oh, that’s enough from you,” she says, nudging back with her shoulder. 

“Is she a good kisser?” Bobbi says. “What’s her name?”

“ _Bobbi._ ” she says, giving Bobbi a hard look until she sighs and rolls her eyes. 

“Fine, fine. But still, you two got up to something last night, yeah?” Bobbi’s grinning, the way she always does when she’s excited about Jemma’s sex life. 

Jemma takes a sip of her beer, trying to sound ladylike. “I went over to her place for dinner, that’s all.”

Bobbi snorts, disbelieving. “Dinner and, what -“ Bobbi pauses to give Jemma a once-over, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “ - dessert?”

“Maybe,” Jemma answers. She’s trying to sound coy, but it ends up making her think about the night before - about Skye’s legs wrapped around her waist, breath hot on her shoulder - and comes out fairly self-satisifed.

Bobbi breaks out into a grin, a big one. She pulls Jemma into a hug full of barely-contained enthusiasm, made somewhat clumsier by whatever’s in her drink. “Atta girl.” 

“I’m not sure it’s cause for that much celebration.” 

“Hey,” Bobbi says. She’s still got one arm wrapped around Jemma’s shoulders, and she rocks her back and forth, affectionately. “I just think it’s awesome that you and Skye are a thing. I think it’s good that you’re dating more.” 

“No, no, we’re not dating,” Jemma says, firmly. “I don’t have the time for it, she knows that. She’s just - you know. It’s fun.” 

“Yeah?” Bobbi says, with that tone that means she wants to hear about _every minute_ of that fun.

“Keeps me out of trouble,” Jemma says, as primly as she can manage, before diving into a long sip of her beer. 

Bobbi gives her that once-over again, the one she’s so good at. Then she leans in close, voice low enough that it’s for Jemma’s ears only. “I thought you liked it when they called you a bad, bad girl,” she says, giggling. 

Jemma feels herself blush all over, from her chest to the tips of her ears. Skye’s voice is in her head ( _I can work with that_ ) and she remembers those hands on her wrists, the way her hips moved _hard._ Her mouth is suddenly dry, so she takes another sip. “You’re awful,” she says, once she’s finished, shoving Bobbi’s side. 

Bobbi just tightens the arm across Jemma’s shoulders and laughs. “Well, I know you know this, but I think it’s great. Whatever it is. You deserve to have more fun than you do.” 

“Graduate school isn’t about _fun_ , it’s about discovery and a strong commitment to scientific progress.” 

“It can be about both,” Bobbi says, and Jemma can’t quite read her tone until she realizes that she’s staring across the table at Lance. 

They can’t _possibly_ be dating again - it’s obvious when they’re dating again. But Lance sneaks a quiet, yearning look back at Bobbi, and it says something, certainly. Jemma rolls her eyes. “Bobbi, you’re _not._ ”

Bobbi looks down at her drink, fiddling with one of the pineapple slices, and now it’s her turn to blush. “Look it’s not like we meant to. And we’re not together officially, but he came over last night, and sort of -“ 

“Sort of _what_ ,” Jemma says, in a tone that’s a hair away from calling her _Barbara Georgiana Morse._

“Apologized,” Bobbi says, vaguely. 

“Apologized how?”

“With his mouth,” she says, and Jemma’s about to point out that there aren’t a lot of other ways to deliver an apology, when she understands the look on Bobbi’s face. She’s never going to be able to un-picture _that_. “He’s coming over tonight to keep apologizing, then we’ll see.” 

Jemma sighs. “Well, as long as you have fun, and he’s good to you this time.”

Bobbi chuckles, clearly thinking of all the ways she’d like Lance to be _good to her_. “Well, while we’re giving each other unsolicited advice, I think you should make Skye your girlfriend. She seems sweet, and you obviously like her a lot.” 

“What do you mean?”

Bobbi plucks at Jemma’s sleeve. She’s still wearing the shirt and sweater Skye lent her (and the underwear, but Bobbi doesn’t need to know _that_ ), and it doesn’t look too out of character, but it’s a bit more edgy than Jemma would ever buy for herself. “Um, it’s like nine o’clock and you’re still wearing her sweater. You had time to go home and change before we went out, nerd.” 

Jemma gets a warm, blossomy feeling in her chest that she tries not to think about too much. She just likes wearing Skye’s sweater, likes having Skye wrapped around her like this (likes that it smells like Skye’s laundry and that it’s soft and that it makes her think of this morning), and that’s fine. That’s not a big deal. Even if it does make her feel certain feelings, even if it does remind her of how she’s felt in the past, it’s - she has it under control. She has boundaries, and Skye understands that, and it’s a long leap from what they’re doing to _being in a relationship_. Sometimes she wishes Bobbi understood that a little better. “It’s not like that. Skye was just being friendly, that’s all.” 

Bobbi quirks an eyebrow. “I’ve never let you wear any of my sweaters after a sweaty, sexually charged dinner date.” 

Jemma sighs. “I mean it. She’s not a girlfriend. I don’t want to get tangled up in anything that’s going to interfere with my work again. Dating does that, it’s messy.”

Bobbi hums in disbelief, and rolls her eyes a little. Which is sort of rude, but Jemma has her suspicions about how much alcohol is in that fruity drink of hers, so maybe that explains it. She’s about to follow up, but then Mack starts talking about a Call of Duty tournament he’s got lined up next weekend, and Jemma lets herself get absorbed in that conversation, instead. She worries at the sleeves of Skye’s sweater all night, letting the waffle print leave little marks against her thumbs, trying not to think about Skye’s hands wearing the same sleeves. 

That night, when she goes to bed, she leaves the borrowed shirt and sweater on the other side of the bed, not quite ready to throw them to the laundry pile. 

 

+

 

Saturday passes uneventfully. Or at least - Jemma does go into the lab for a few hours on to test out an idea, and spends most of the afternoon downloading papers for a literature review she needs to finish for Dr. May, so it’s productive. But she doesn’t hear anything from Skye. 

Which isn’t so surprising, and it’s not as if they’d agreed to text each other or made plans. But even so, Jemma finds herself keeping her phone closer at hand than usual. She spends most of her breaks at the lab checking the display, and after waiting all of Saturday for a text from Skye, she even thinks about sending one of her own. 

She wakes up Sunday to a message from Skye, sent at 02:00. _\- Hope you’re having a good weeknd. I liked hanging ot with you the other nightttttt._

It’s not expecially profound or articulate, and the misspellings make Jemma wonder if Skye was drinking while she sent it. But the sentiment is sort of sweet, and she spends most of breakfast smiling down at her phone and trying to think of the best way to respond. She can’t quite settle on the right reply - her weekend has been productive, but not necessarily _fun_. She did enjoy hanging out with Skye, and she wants to see her again, but she doesn’t want to invite another liason quite yet. She has reading to get done today, and a meeting with Dr. May coming up that’s going to require a substantial amount of preparation. 

After she’s finished breakfast and coffee, she settles on an answer. She sends the emoji with the blushing cheeks, then: _\- I liked seeing you, too. Most of the weekend spent working, unfortunately - not so fun._

She doesn’t expect a reply for some time - if Skye was texting after midnight, it’s not likely that she’ll be up before noon - but just after lunch, her phone chirps out a text alert. She sets down her laptop to check, and is more than a little disappointed to see that it’s a text from Bobbi. 

_\- Lance is soooo good at apologizing._ There are five emojis: two faces with sunglasses, a flower, the little fire symbol, and a thumbs-up. 

She sighs. It’s no surprise that he’s good at apologizing - either in the usual fashion, or the way Bobbi prefers it - and it sounds like they’re back on again. She’s in the middle of sending a reply (- _Congratulations._ ) when she gets a notification for another text, this one from Skye. 

She flicks to the next message screen as quickly as she can. _\- Working on a Saturday? That sounds terrible. :(_

Jemma smiles down at her phone. _\- Not so bad. Lots of reading to finish, is all. I like getting through it on a day when I’m not expected to be in the lab._

_\- Lots of reading that means you’ll come visit me at work this week?_

_\- Maybe._

_\- :D :D_

_\- It seems unfair that I’m always the one to visit you at work, though. ;)_ She’s joking, obviously, but Skye keeps teasing her through text messages and it seems only fair for her to reply in kind. 

But to her surprise, Skye texts back with, _\- Maybe I’ll have to work on that. ;)_

She feels suddenly flustered - not sure if Skye realized she was joking, and not sure if Skye is joking back or being serious. Then she thinks about Skye actually _visiting_ her at work, meeting Fitz and being charming and leaning against Jemma’s lab bench with that smile of hers, and it’s - she has to work. She has to work, she has a folder with fifteen articles on her hard drive that she needs to review before tomorrow, and that’s more important than daydreaming about kissing. 

She replies ( _-Okay_ ) without much thought, sends her reply to Bobbi’s earlier text, and goes back to focusing on her reading. She’s three quarters of the way through the methods of the next article - _A novel component of_ dendroaspis viridis _venom: a biochemical analysis_ \- when her phone chirps again. And she doesn’t want to check it - she wants to ignore it and get back to work - but she thinks about Skye, maybe in a t-shirt and those little shorts, leaning against her kitchen counter and waiting for a text back and she’d hate to keep her waiting. Anyway, she’ll need to reread the methods of this article a few times; they’re very poorly explained. 

The display of her phone shows an emoji from Skye, the little face blowing a kiss. Jemma feels her cheeks go hot. She doesn’t know what to say in reply, doesn’t want to _not_ reply, so she texts back, _-Thank you for the clothes. When do I need to get them back to you?_

Skye replies with the winking-face emoji, then: _-Don’t worry about it. Whenever you get a chance is fine._

_\- Are you sure?_

_\- Totally. I can live without that sweater for a little while._

Jemma smiles, setting her phone to the side. Somehow, knowing that she doesn’t have to return Skye’s shirt and sweater right away makes her feel sort of fuzzy and dreamy in a way that she doesn’t want to examine too closely. She takes a deep breath, and goes back to her article. 

It takes her five readings of the _methods_ section before she actually processes what she’s read, and doesn’t think too much about why that might be, either. 

 

+

 

Jemma doesn’t get a chance to see Skye until close to the end of the week. They start getting into the habit of texting each other, though, at least daily. Sometimes it’s Skye, telling her a story about a particularly entertaining customer, or sending her links to a new song she’s discovered. Other times it’s Jemma, texting Skye when Fitz is being particularly irksome or wishing Skye a good morning before she leaves for the lab. 

She has an article due for Dr. May on Thursday, in advance of their meeting the following week. Which means that she’s up past midnight on Wednesday, sending her articles and the final draft of a lit review that she’s been working at for months. It’s exhausting, but Skye stays awake with her until it’s sent, texting her dance music to keep her awake. 

It’s nice to have the company, even if it is just through her phone. And there’s a part of Jemma that knows this isn’t quite like things have been with her previous sexual partners, but it’s - she’s not sure. There’s just something about knowing that Skye is thinking about her that feels better than not knowing, is all. 

 

She gets an email back from May on Friday afternoon. 

_Hi Jemma,_

_I had a chance to look through your review article today - it’s excellent work. We can talk more about publication at our next meeting._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Melinda May, PhD  
Professor, Department of Biochemistry  
Culver University_

It means more work, which Jemma had sort of expected, but it also includes the word _excellent_. Dr. May hasn’t used that word to refer to a student in _years_ \- it’s almost akin to any other supervisor throwing a parade. Coming from Melinda May, it’s a significant compliment, and Jemma feels her cheeks grow warm as she stares at her laptop screen. _Excellent._

She picks up her phone, and realizes that the first person that she wants to text isn’t Bobbi or Fitz - it’s Skye. 

She hesitates for a bit over the message screen, unsure. But then she thinks about all of the encouraging messages Skye sent her the night before her article was due, the way Skye smiled and kissed her the week before as Jemma was leaving her apartment. She sends the message: _\- Doctor May told me my review was excellent! :D_

She sends the same text to Bobbi, and a similar one to Fitz, without the smiley-face. 

She’d already had plans to meet with Bobbi at Eagle to do some reading, before their usual Friday drinks, and she starts packing up her things to make it there. As she does, her phone vibrates in her pocket - a thumbs-up emoji from Fitz, a series of congratulatory party emojis from Bobbi. 

But the most important text she recieves is a reply from Skye. _-That’s awesome! Congratulations._

 

+

 

When she gets to Eagle, Bobbi’s waiting at their usual table, books and her tablet already unpacked. “Hey, you,” she says, standing as Jemma sets her bag down. She pulls Jemma into a hug, holding tight and rocking her back and forth with enthusiasm. “Congratulations on being a lit review rockstar.” 

Jemma feels herself blush, both from self-consciousness and pride. “Thank you.” 

“You earned it,” Bobbi says, stepping away and returning to her seat. 

Jemma nods, trying to busy herself with taking the latest readings out of her bag. 

“Oh, before you sit down - I think you should buy a cofffee.” Jemma looks at Bobbi, then follows her gaze up to the bar. Skye’s there, leaning against the counter, smiling at her. If it’s possible, her blush grows even deeper. “I was already planning to do that, thank you.” 

Bobbi smiles. “I bet you were.” 

Jemma rolls her eyes as she moves away from their table and over to the counter. There’s not much of a line-up, and that’s - well, it means they’ll have a little longer to talk, and she doesn’t dislike the idea of spending more time with Skye. “Hey,” Skye says, once Jemma is near enough for conversation. “So, I hear you’re some kind of super genius, now?”

Jemma ducks her head, instinctively. There’s something about the way Skye’s got her attention directed fully at Jemma, the way her expression is something close to pride, that makes Jemma suddenly shy. “I don’t know about that,” she says. 

“From what you and Bobbi said, Dr. May gives compliments, like, never.” 

“That’s not entirely true, I was just -“ 

“Hey,” Skye says, and she reaches across the counter to touch Jemma’s wrist. “I’m trying to tell you I think you’re awesome.”

Jemma looks up, and Skye’s watching her with that smile, attentive and sweet. She feels a thrill of emotion behind her ribs, directed squarely at Skye. “Oh,” she says. 

“Anyway, I have something for you.”

“You do?” Jemma says. She feels a sudden pang of nervousness - gifts are things people give in _relationships_ , and this isn’t that. But Skye’s looking at her with confidence and interest, and her hair is pulled back in a way that Jemma _really_ likes, and it’s awfully compelling. 

“Yeah, I do. It’s in the break room.”

“Don’t you need to stay out here?”

Skye looks around almost theatrically, scanning the room and the front door. There’s nobody waiting for a drink, and all of the customers seated seem content. “I think everyone will be okay for five minutes. Come on.” 

Jemma allows herself to be led around a corner, behind the coffee counter and then through a door to a small room in the back. It’s a cramped space - there’s a huge fridge in the back corner, the kitchen space where they do the baking, and a rack piled floor to ceiling with coffee beans and baking supplies. There’s also a small table near the entrance, with a couple of chairs and a calendar of shift schedules - clearly the ‘break room’ area. 

Skye pulls Jemma by the wrist so that she’s standing against the wall, hidden from view of the cafe proper. Skye steps into the space in front of her, and reaches up to run her fingertips through Jemma’s hair. “Congratulations on impressing your supervisor,” she says. “I wanted to give you this.” 

Then she leans in close, tucks her fingers under Jemma’s jaw and pulls her in for a kiss. It’s searing and sweet, the kind that leaves Jemma breathless. 

“Oh,” Jemma says. It comes out like a sigh, and she can feel desire humming underneath her skin. “Thank you.” 

Then she licks her lips, and pulls Skye close. She wants to be chaste, to give her a teasing little kiss before heading back out to study. But Skye’s mouth is soft and warm and skilled and Skye’s hand is on her hip, playing with the hem of her shirt, and it ends up being completely the opposite of chaste. Jemma feels herself relax, resting her shoulders against the wall while her hips jut out, seeking contact with Skye’s body. Skye’s just so beautiful, so _good_ at this, and she’s pressing much-less-sweet kisses across Jemma’s mouth, her jaw, her throat. 

It’s a while before Skye groans, mouth pressed against Jemma’s neck, and pulls away. Jemma hears herself whimper, on instinct, at the loss of contact. It takes her a moment before she remembers that Skye’s at work, that probably they can’t make out against the employee shift schedule for more than a few minutes. 

(And also, that Bobbi’s waiting for her, probably laughing and texting with Mack about the fact that she just got herself talked into making out with Skye in the break room of a coffee shop.) 

Jemma leans back against the wall, letting Skye separate their bodies a fraction more. Her cheeks are warm, and her lips feel kiss-swollen, the slightest bit sore. She realizes that her hands are at Skye’s chest, resting against her sternum. She leaves them there for a moment, fastening and unfastening the top button of Skye’s shirt while she tries to move her thoughts away from kissing and toward biochemistry. 

Skye laughs, this sighing sort of chuckle, and rests her head on Jemma’s shoulder. “You have to leave,” she whispers. “You’re too pretty.”

Jemma frowns, not sure what Skye means - leave the coffee shop, leave the break room - until Skye looks up again. She’s biting her lip, cheeks pink as she covers Jemma’s hands with her own. Jemma lets go of Skye’s shirt. “If you keep doing _that_ , I’m going to have to ditch work and take you back to my place.”

Jemma blushes, whispers, “Oh,” again. She considers it for a long, delicious moment - Skye kissing her against this wall, Skye sighing and crying out on top of the table while Jemma touches her, Skye hot and slick against her fingers - before taking her hands back. 

“We should hang out soon?” Skye says, and the tone of her voice makes it _very_ clear what she means by _hang out._

When Jemma speaks, her voice is rough to match. “Yes. Yes, um, we really should. Soon.” 

Skye takes a deep breath, and blows it out through her nose, straightening her shirt. “I should make you a coffee.” 

“Yes, that too.” 

 

When she makes it back to her table with Bobbi - holding her latte and absolutely not blushing - Bobbi gives her a once over. 

“Not a word,” Jemma says, trying to preempt the joke she can already see in Bobbi’s expression. 

Bobbi smiles. “I was just going to ask what kind of coffee you got.”

“A latte. That’s all.” 

Bobbi’s smile grows wider, and she leans in close, speaking into Jemma’s ear. “Really? I figured it must have been a pretty special kind of drink, since it took so long to make.” 

Jemma sighs, and takes a sip. “We’re doing science,” she says, as primly as she can manage. 

“ _Yeah_ we are,” Bobbi says, sliding the articles she’s finished over to Jemma’s side of the table.

“Honestly,” she starts, and Bobbi laughs, raises her hands in defeat. 

“Fine, fine,” she says. Then, unable to resist one last joke, she says, “I’m just saying, I never get service like that when I come here.”

Jemma lifts the nearest paper she can find - _Impact of dendroaspis viridans toxicity in domestic canine species_ \- and bats it against Bobbi’s forearm, gently. Bobbi just laughs.


	5. if you give it a name then it's already won

Jemma texts with Skye all weekend, but they don’t quite manage to _hang out_ like Skye had hoped. Skye’s got plans with some of her friends Saturday, and Sunday is Jemma’s day to go into the lab and pre-test some assays for the week ahead, and there just isn’t time. But she notices that things are - different, somehow. That sometimes, Skye’s texts don’t make her think of the subject of conversation, but of the way Skye pressed her up against that wall, the feel of her fingertips against Jemma’s hip. And she does notice that Skye’s texts veer closer and closer to lewdness at times, especially in the late evening on Saturday.

 

On Monday morning, Jemma goes into the lab as usual - on time, arriving _before_ Fitz. She settles into work, and doesn’t think about her cell phone or Skye (much) until partway through the morning, when there’s a knock at the lab door. 

Fitz’s workstation is nearest, and has a view of the window in the door. He looks up, briefly interested, before hunching back down over his soldering iron. “It’s for you,” he says, grumpily. 

Jemma sighs. He _always_ does this, and it’s not like his tinkering is critical enough that it can’t be put down for five minutes. “Fitz, you could at least answer it, you’re nearest.”

“Yeah, but it’s for you, so, you should answer it.”

“How can you know that unless you answer -“

He huffs, rolling his eyes in a way that Jemma’s sure is a little more dramatic than it needs to be. “Jemma, trust me. It’s for you.” 

“ _Fitz_ ,” she sighs, and gets up herself. She has to move almost all the way to the door before she can see who’s there, and it takes her a little while to realize that the person on the other side of the door is Skye. “Oh.” 

Her heart starts beating more quickly, fluttering behind her ribs. She’s sure it’s not due to any emotion; it’s just physiology. She opens the door, enough to let Skye walk inside. “Hello, Skye. I - is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Skye says. She’s smiling at Jemma with that look that feels like it’s only for her, not quite inside Jemma’s personal space but not outside it, either. Jemma wants to kiss her, a lot, and Skye looks like she probably wouldn’t mind that, herself. 

“Good,” Jemma says back. The word comes out soft, sort of breathy, and she knows that Skye won’t mind but she’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Fitz is in the room, and probably noticing _everything._

“This place is really hard to find,” Skye says, breaking the moment, giving them both space to move a little farther apart. 

“Yes, it is. I wasn’t expecting - “ Jemma starts, then looks down. It’s only now that she notices that Skye is holding two coffees to go and a paper bag, all branded from her work. 

(She also notices that Skye’s jeans are sliding down her hips a little bit, and her t-shirt is riding up a little on her left side and there’s a slice of bare skin that she’d _really_ like to touch.) 

“I figured it was my turn to visit,” Skye says, drawing Jemma’s attention upwards. “Come take a break with me. You’re allowed to take breaks, right?”

Jemma thinks about her morning - reading and then she has three assays to start so that they’ll finish before the evening and then she wants to start preparing for her meeting with Doctor May because she really is difficult to impress, last week’s email aside, and she _can_ fit in a break, but ordinarily she’d work straight through until one o’clock and then stop to have lunch. But Skye is wearing her grey beanie, and she’s looking at Jemma really hopefully, like maybe she went out on a limb showing up here. Some part of Jemma can’t bear the idea of letting Skye down. 

She sighs. Even with Skye looking the way that she does, the idea of taking a break makes her a little stressed. It’s not that she’s _not allowed_ , but it wouldn’t be great form to run into Doctor Coulson or Doctor May while taking a coffee break this early in the day. “Perhaps I could justify a short one,” she says. Skye’s smile grows even wider. 

Fitz is still watching - his head is down, but she _knows_ he’s paying attention, knows he’s going to start texting everything to Lance and Mack as soon as she leaves. She turns to him, wanting to double-check that he doesn’t need her for anything in the next while. “Would that be alright, Fitz?” she asks. 

Fitz shrugs. “I’m not your keeper, do what you like.” 

“Alright, then.”

Skye offers one of the cups to Jemma. “Let’s go.” 

 

They end up walking downstairs and outside, to the lawn in front of the Hub. There’s a little sidewalk with a path that curves around the building, and Skye leads her towards a shaded area at the side of the building. There are a series of benches there, all unoccupied, and they sit together on the nearest one. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Jemma says. 

Her cup feels like whatever’s inside is the right temperature to drink, and when she takes her first sip she’s delighted to discover that it doesn’t have coffee in it at all, but instead her favourite earl grey latte. “You remembered my drink,” she says, genuinely touched. It feels like it’s been ages since she last went in to Eagle Coffee to order from Skye. 

“Yeah,” Skye says. She ducks her head, the way she sometimes does when she’s feeling shy, and runs a hand through her hair. “Is it alright? I didn’t make it, so I’m not sure -“

“It’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you.” 

“There’s also, um.” Skye opens the paper bag and pulls out a cookie - ginger molasses, Jemma’s favourite - and breaks it in half. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry, but I figured this might be okay.”

It’s more than okay - it’s Jemma’s favourite snack and she’s not used to having someone be this thoughtful, this kind. She doesn’t quite know how to explain that, so she settles on, “Yes, thank you.” 

They talk for a little while - Skye about her weekend, Jemma about the meeting she has on Friday - and it’s nice. Sort of. 

Being with Skye is _lovely_ , of course. There’s no question about that. Jemma’s latte is perfect, and the cookie is delicious and Skye keeps smiling, right at Jemma. She wants to relax, to enjoy this and maybe kiss the corner of Skye’s mouth and see if she’ll sigh for her. But she also feels vaguely delinquent, in a way that’s less titillating and more stressful. As though someone from a neighbouring lab is going to see her slacking off like this, and assume that her commitment to scientific progress is negotiable once she’s in front of a beautiful woman. Overall, Jemma’s not sure how to feel, and the conflict is distracting. She tries to keep up with the conversation, but her heart isn’t in it.

Eventually, Skye notices. “You okay?” she asks. She reaches for Jemma’s hand, running her thumb across Jemma’s knuckles. “You seem upset.”

It’s accurate, but it’s not, and Jemma doesn’t know how to explain the way that this is bothering her without hurting Skye’s feelings. Skye is watching her so earnestly, like she really is concerned that Jemma isn’t enjoying herself, and there’s nothing for it but honesty. “No,” she says. Then, “Yes. Sorry.” She runs a hand through her hair, trying to sort herself out. “It’s just - I feel like I’m breaking the rules, a little. I don’t usually take breaks like this, and it’s - well, it’s not as if it’s technically forbidden, but I do worry that people might feel I’m - I don’t know. Slacking off, I suppose.”

Skye smiles, and her hand comes up to rub Jemma’s thigh, comforting. “I can’t imagine anyone thinking that you are slacking off. You’re like the most intense person I’ve ever met when it comes to your work.”

“Not really. It’s just what’s done.” Jemma answers. It’s not entirely true - Bobbi takes a full hour at midday to go to the gym, and Mack rarely comes in before ten in the morning (although, he does prefer to stay late).

“But you take breaks to eat lunch and stuff, right?” Skye says. She’s frowning, ducking her head to make sure that she meets Jemma’s eyes. 

“Of course, I just - I mean, obviously I eat outside the lab bench area because there are toxic materials, but I don’t usually -“

“- go outside?”

Jemma blushes. “When you say it like that, it sounds worse than it is.”

Skye’s thumb rubs circles along Jemma’s leg, just above her knee. It’s supposed to be comforting - it is comforting - but it’s also making Jemma think about those hands rubbing a good deal higher. “That’s no way to live,” Skye says. “Your bosses must be really intense.”

“Well, Doctor May is fairly intimidating, but she is the foremost veterinary toxicology expert in this hemisphere, and she’s generally quite reasonable as long as I’m prepared, but it’s just that I have to stay on top of things if I want to finish my PhD on schedule, and it’s -“

She’s getting a little carried away, stressing the way she usually does with Bobbi or Fitz, but Skye cuts her off before she can get going. “Hey,” she says, interrupting. “It’s fine. We can go back, if you need to.”

Jemma sighs. She wants to be the sort of person who would be fine sneaking out for coffee breaks with their gorgeous lover, wants to kiss Skye - a lot - and then sneak back into the lab giddy with the excitement of her. But she’s just - not that person. Not right now. “I think I’d like that,” she says. 

Skye starts to stand, ready to leave. On impulse Jemma reaches out and grabs her wrist. “Wait,” she says. 

Skye stops. She’s looking at Jemma, expression searching, and then her eyes flick down to Jemma’s mouth and before Jemma can really think about it, she’s pulling at the front of Skye’s shirt and they’re kissing. It’s a really good one, the kind that makes Jemma’s heart race and her breath catch. As they part, Skye sighs a little, and oh, that _does_ something to Jemma. 

“There,” Jemma whispers. “Now we can go back.”

They walk from the bench toward the sidewalk. Jemma’s still a little jittery, a little bit from stress but mostly from Skye’s lips. She walks nearer to Skye than she ordinarily would, and as they walk, her fingertips brush against Skye’s arm. It’s purely on accident, but Skye notices, and reaches out to take Jemma’s hand in her own. They haven’t done this before. 

Skye’s thumb brushes against the back of Jemma’s hand, and their fingers sort of thread together. Skye’s hand is warm and soft in hers, and Jemma’s surprised at how much she likes the feel of it, the solidity of it. They don’t hold hands for long - just a few paces, and then they’re back at the door to the Hub - but it’s quite nice, all the same. 

 

By the time they get upstairs, Jemma’s started to feel more relaxed, like maybe taking a break wasn’t the worst thing she’s ever done. The hallway to Jemma’s side of the lab is lined with offices, and they’ve almost passed them all when a door opens, and to Jemma’s horror, Doctor Coulson steps out. He’s dressed for work, wearing his usual cardigan and holding his favourite mug (Rosalind Franklin), likely on his way to the kitchenette to make a cup of tea. He’s walking in the same direction as Jemma and Skye, his back to them. There’s a chance he might not have spotted them, were it not for Jemma’s sudden terror at being spotted by an authority figure. Before she can think about how to be stealthy, she’s already whispered, “ _Oh_.” 

It’s audible enough that he turns, notices Jemma. Notices Jemma, outside the lab, with a strange woman, holding a cup of coffee. _Awful._

“Doctor Coulson,” she says, voice about two octaves too high.

“Why, hello, Jemma. What brings you to my hallway at this hour of the morning?”

“Oh, I was just -“ and she freezes, because she doesn’t want to be _honest_ but she can’t think of a lie and she doesn’t do this, she doesn’t break rules and she doesn’t ever need to make up stories because she’s always doing exactly what she’s supposed to. 

Just then, Skye steps forward. She, of course, is completely composed, as she’s not currently panicking about the future of her career as a researcher. “She was just showing me around the building,” she says. “I’m Skye, I’m a friend of Jemma’s.” 

She offers a hand to Coulson, and Jemma has never been so relieved. Skye is _amazing._ “And I was just leaving, so -“

She tries to step away, but Coulson accepts her handshake and holds her there, smiling. He always has been friendly with students - never in an inappropriate way, but in a bit of an eccentric way - and Skye is no exception. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” he says, breaking into a wide smile that reaches his eyes. “I always say, it’s important for young people these days to have friends and maintain a good balance to their lives. Science isn’t everything, you know.” 

Jemma and Skye both laugh, Jemma’s high and anxious and Skye’s mildly nervous. “So I hear,” Skye says. 

“Now, what do you do, Skye?”

“Oh, I work down at Eagle Coffee right now, but I’m -“

“A fine establishment, a fine establishment. It’s so good for young people to get work experience, I think.” 

“Well, I do what I can, sir,” she says. 

Skye is being a good sport, but Jemma knows Doctor Coulson fairly well, and she can sense that he’s about to launch into one of his monologues on Things About Young People Today. They’re fairly harmless, as monologues go, but Jemma needs to get back to the lab and this is already embarrassing on several levels. She takes a deep breath, and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Doctor Coulson, now that you’re here, I remember Fitz mentioned that you wanted to ask me about something?”

He frowns for a moment, staring down at his shoes. Jemma is able to mouth _sorry_ and Skye smiles, gets it. “Oh, yes,” Coulson says, after some consideration. “I wanted to speak to you about the _dendroaspis_ venom assays we’ve been working on.”

“Yes, sir. What about them?”

She’s able to steer him back towards the lab, and Skye immediately takes the hint, disappearing with a wave and a half-smile. 

 

+

 

Once she’s back at the lab, she sorts out Doctor Coulson. His biochemistry questions are two weeks stale, since he’s mostly working on the engineering side of the project, so it’s not difficult to deal with him. But it is time-consuming, and by the time she finishes sorting out all of his concerns and gets back to work, it’s well past noon. 

She sits down, taking stock of where she is in her workday. She still has to finish all of the reading she’d set aside for this morning, and one of her electrophoresis plates ran too long, so she’ll have to repeat it. She has to run and then annotate another two, and there’s a fresh pile of undergraduate lab reports she’s supposed to grade. She feels very, very behind. Fitz steps out to eat lunch, and for thirty blissful minutes, she has peace and she can get something done. 

She doesn’t even realize Fitz has come back until he sidles up to her bench, leaning over the paper she’s in the middle of reading and blocking her field of view. “Jemma,” he says, startling her half to death. 

“God, _Fitz_ ,” she manages, and he chuckles. 

“Hey, whoa. It’s fine, jumpy. I just wanted to ask how things were coming along.” 

She has been jumpy, which isn’t his fault. She sighs, catching her breath. “Fine. It’s fine. I’ve just got this meeting with May on Friday, and I need to-“

“Completely overprepare so that she doesn’t seem so terrifying?”

“Exactly.”

Fitz chuckles - she’s not the only one who finds Doctor May both scientifically and personally intimidating - and nudges her shoulder. “So how was your coffee break with your _girlfriend_?”

She just can’t, right now, is the thing. She can’t talk about whether or not Skye’s her girlfriend, she can’t cope with Fitz’s inevitable comments about how cute Skye is (and she’s not cute, she’s _gorgeous_ ), she can’t deal with any of this when she has important work to do. She sighs, frustrated. 

Fitz chuckles in reply. “That good, or that bad?”

It’s an innocent comment. And it’s not Fitz’s fault that he’s here when she’s having a bad day, it’s not his fault that Skye is beautiful and confusing, but she just sort of snaps. “She’s not my _girlfriend_ , Leo, leave it alone.” 

“Fine, I was just asking,” he says, hands up as if in self-defense. But, to his credit, he lets the topic be, and gives her some space so that she can get back to work. 

 

Fitz leaves at five, like always, but Jemma ends up staying late to catch up. It’s well into the evening when she finally packs up to leave, and just as she’s getting her coat, her phone chirps. There’s a text alert, from Skye. 

_\- Hey, how’s your night going?_

Jemma smiles. She does like that Skye asks, likes that she’s thinking about her, and maybe a few interruptions aren’t the worst thing.   
_\- Not bad. Busy._

_\- Oh yeah? More work from the dreaded Doctor Coulson? He seemed like such a jerk when I met him. ;P_

_\- No, just the usual. I neglected one of my assays and needed to repeat the work._

_\- You sure it wasn’t Doctor Coulson?_

_\- Pretty sure._

_\- I think it was the Mr. Rogers sweater that really capped off the intimidation for me. He’s like a dragon, but scarier._  
The message is followed by a winking face and a tiny emoji dragon. 

Jemma sighs. Skye is clearly enjoying teasing her, and ordinarily Jemma would be able to manage it, perhaps make a few jokes of her own in reply. But she’s stressed, and she barely ate lunch and hasn’t had dinner so she’s _hungry_ , and between Fitz and Coulson and Skye, she just feels _done_. This isn’t what she wanted, this isn’t compartmentalized, it’s messy and it’s interfering with _everything_ , just like she didn’t want. 

She huffs out a frustrated sigh to the empty lab, suddenly too angry to reply. She puts her phone into her bag for the walk home, and silences her text alerts. She is a scientist, and she’s busy, and she doesn’t have time for distractions.


	6. i feel you in my knees; say you'll come in soon

Jemma visits Eagle Coffee on Thursday, and it’s almost like seeing Skye. She goes by in the afternoon, a time and day when she knows Skye’s not working, and orders a cup of tea. It’s not as good as it is when Skye makes it, but it’s still tea, and all she really needs is a table and fuel to get through the last of the grading on her list. 

The man serving coffee today is attractive, in a hipster lumberjack sort of way, but she doesn’t look up to watch him work. She doesn’t get distracted by his arms or his smile or his hair, and the stack of unmarked papers starts to become more manageable. She makes it about halfway through before she realizes that there’s somebody standing next to her table, someone wearing black boots and skinny jeans and - oh. 

Skye is there. 

She’s not wearing her apron, and Jemma knows this isn’t one of her shifts. But she’s still gorgeous, in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hair loose around her shoulders. “Hey,” she says. 

“Skye,” Jemma replies, all she can manage right now. She feels almost sick. Skye is so beautiful, so sweet and she thinks about all the texts she’s been ignoring and feels like such an ass. 

“I, uh, was just here to pick up my check for the week, and I saw you working, so. Yeah. This is for you.” 

Jemma notices for the first time that she’s holding a mug, one of the big, round ones the shop uses for fancier drinks. She sets it down in front of Jemma. It’s a tea latte, with a little panda bear face scuplted into the foam, and Jemma can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s so lovely. It’s awful. 

“So, did I do something wrong?” Skye asks. 

“What?” Jemma says. “Oh, no. Of course not.” 

Skye pulls a chair over and sits down. Her chair is arranged so that she’s beside Jemma, rather than across from her, and if Jemma relaxes her shoulders, their elbows touch. She’s wearing eyeliner, and it brings out her eyes in a way that makes Jemma’s heart beat a little more quickly. “You sure? Because, you haven’t answered any of my texts in, like, four days. Seems like you might be mad at me.”

“Oh,” Jemma says, stunned. Skye’s not wrong, but Jemma hadn’t thought that she’d see her today, need to deal with this today, and she’s completely unprepared.

The thing is, she’s done this before - had partners that she connected with on a purely sexual level - and it was always so clear. She’d establish boundaries, and then call when sex was necessary and not call when it wasn’t, and they would part ways once the liaison had run its course. But with Skye, those boundaries aren’t tidy at all, and she’s - that’s partly her fault, probably, because she shouldn’t have been allowing herself to daydream about Skye’s lips or think about how thoughtful she is or take home her sweaters. But surely it’s partly Skye’s fault, too, and she’s just not sure how to get back to a place where things are _clear._

It’s hard enough when she thinks about this on her own, but it’s even worse now, because Skye is here. She’s got her hands resting on the table and they’re beautiful, and she’s sitting near enough that Jemma can smell her hair. She’s also watching Jemma with that look on her face, the one that makes Jemma feel important and special and something else that she’s not thinking about.

“I’m not angry, Skye,” she says. She sighs, not sure how to phrase things. She tries looking at Skye, but that just makes it worse, and she looks away almost immediately. She finally settles on her stack of ungraded papers, and addresses them, instead. “I just feel like this is becoming a little more than I’m able to handle.”

“Oh?” Skye says. Her voice sounds shaky. Jemma doesn’t look up. 

“I tried to make it clear that I’m not in a place where I can accommodate a _relationship_ , and I’m worried that perhaps you had the wrong idea about -“ she hesitates. She’s not sure what the right ending is, if Skye has the wrong idea about _Jemma_ or _them_ or _everything,_ or if she even had the wrong idea at all.

She looks up at Skye, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Skye’s expression is heartbreaking, eyes rimmed bright with tears. She runs her left hand through her hair, and Jemma’s eye is drawn to the black ink there, the lines of the muscles in her forearm as she moves. 

“No, that’s -“ Skye sighs, swipes her hands across her face and catches tears that are threatening to fall. “I mean, that’s cool, right? I knew that going in. I get it.” But she looks so sad, like she wishes she didn’t have to get it. It twists behind Jemma’s ribs like a knife. 

“I’m sorry, Skye, I -“ Jemma starts to speak, but Skye interrupts her. 

“No, I - it’s fine,” she says. 

She doesn’t look like it’s fine, and suddenly Jemma wants nothing more than to take it all back, so that Skye will stop looking this sad. But she wanted boundaries for a _reason_ , and she doesn’t know what to say to make this easy, so she doesn’t say anything at all. 

They’re silent for a long while, listening to the noise of the coffee shop around them. It’s awful. 

Skye is the one who breaks the silence. “Anyway, I texted because I was trying to tell you, I got a second job,” Skye says. Her voice is a little watery at first, but she pauses, exhales. When she continues, it’s stronger. Changing the subject is clearly helping. “I’m working sound at this club downtown. It’s just a trial thing at first, to see if they like my work. I wanted you to - I just thought you’d want to know, is all.”

Jemma does want to know, is the thing. Every time they’ve talked for any length of time about the future, Skye’s mentioned doing this, and she knows it’s important to Skye. She feels like an idiot all over again, letting her feelings about boundaries get in the way of sharing this. “Of course, I’d want to know,” she says, leaning into Skye’s shoulder. “That’s amazing news. You’ve worked so hard.”

Skye smiles, and it’s an odd one, sad and bashful at the same time. 

“I mean it,” Jemma says. And then, because she can’t help herself, “You should be very pleased.”

Skye shrugs, looking away almost shyly. “I’m doing a sound test Saturday afternoon before opening, I was going to ask if you wanted to see, but -“ she pauses, frowning. “I don’t want to overstep, if that’s too much, or whatever.”

Jemma’s not sure if that’s overstepping, either. But she cares about Skye as a friend, wants to support her and see her work. Skye is watching her carefully, with a guarded expression that Jemma can’t quite read. “Of course, I’d be happy to go,” Jemma says. But then she realizes that Skye might not want her to, especially now. Maybe she was just asking to be polite, or to have something to say. “If you still want me to go.” 

“I do, yeah,” Skye says. She smiles, and it’s the one Jemma likes best, all the way to her eyes. “I’d really like it if you came.” 

“Good.” 

“Yeah,” Skye says. Then, “If I text you the details, will you answer?”

“Yes,” Jemma says. She already regrets freezing Skye out like that. “I will.” 

“Cool,” Skye says. “Well, I can leave you to your papers, but I’ll, um. I’ll see you this weekend?”

Skye reaches out, setting her forearm on the table and brushing her thumb against Jemma’s hand. She feels it like sparks, all the way up her arm. “Yeah,” Jemma answers, trying not to think about how good those hands are at touching, the way Skye can make them feel strong and gentle all at once. 

“Good.” Skye says, before getting up to leave. 

Then Jemma’s alone again, with her tea and her stack of grading. She tries to start reading, but she can’t quite get herself to focus on reading about the same introductory crystallization experiment for the thirtieth time. Her head is still buzzing with Skye, with how sad she looked, with how much Jemma’s excited to see her again, with her touch against Jemma’s arm. It takes the rest of her mug of tea and a refill before things inside have settled, and she feels ready to be productive again. 

 

+

 

The club Skye is working at is called _Afterlife_ , a few blocks away from Eagle Coffee toward the dodgier part of town. Jemma’s never been, but she’s heard about it, mostly through Lance’s friends. It’s mostly punk bands and angry goths and cheap beer, but occasionally some bigger acts come to play there, too. There’s a rumor going around campus that they were the last venue Lincoln Hawk played, before they broke up. 

The club is closed, but Skye had told her to expect that - it’s two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, hardly peak hours. She knocks on the heavy steel door and sends Skye a quick text to let her know she’s arrived. 

It’s not a long wait, but it feels like ages. As she waits, Jemma manages to conjure up a hundred different scenarios, all of them upsetting, in which Skye doesn’t open the door at all. But then there’s a heavy, metallic thud and the door swigs open, and Skye is there. Her hair’s in a ponytail, and she’s got a set of headphones looped around her neck and connected to something in her back pocket. Her fringe is sort of falling into her eyes, a little, and it’s completely unfair that she’s this attractive, all the time. 

“Hey, you made it,” Skye says. She leans against the doorframe, and her hips jut out at just the right angle and Jemma’s mouth goes dry. 

“Of course I did,” Jemma says. Her voice is so _earnest_ , she has to stop herself from wincing. 

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Skye says back. Then she steps away and holds the door, inviting Jemma inside. 

She’s never been in an empty club, before. It’s an odd feeling - like being at school after hours, the wrong number of people in a familiar space. She’d always heard of Afterlife as being tiny, crowded, but with just the two of them - three, she realizes, there’s a man behind the bar restocking drinks - the space is immense. “Wow,” she says, without thinking. 

Skye chuckles. Jemma would feel silly, with anyone else. But with Skye, her laugh feels comforting, like she appreciates the fact that Jemma’s impressed. “So what, um. What are you doing today?” Jemma asks. 

“I’m going to show you,” Skye says. “You’ll love it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Skye says. Then she pauses to look Jemma right in the eye, winks in a way that absolutely should not be attractive. “I finally get to show you my superpower.”

It takes a few moments before Jemma remembers. Skye’s _superpower_ , from their very first evening out together. She laughs. “I see.” 

Skye takes her over to the sound board. There are dozens of switches and sliders and a nest of cables, and the whole setup looks much more complicated than Jemma had imagined. She flicks a few, expertly. “There’s no band tonight, just music, so it’s a little more straightforward,” she says. It looks exactly the opposite. 

“I mean, there’ll be a DJ, so this isn’t quite right, but - “ she pauses, pulls her phone out of her back pocket, and disconnects the headset. “Here,” she says, plugging one of the cables into her phone. 

She flicks on a song - the display reads _Peaches_ , but Jemma can’t make out a song title - and looks right at Jemma. Her eyes are bright and she’s biting down on her lower lip, and oh, Jemma’s missed her mouth. She’s also missed the way Skye looks when she’s like this, full of excitement in a way that’s almost childlike, urging Jemma to come along with her. “Do you want to turn it on?” Skye asks. 

Jemma honestly isn’t sure if Skye meant that to be an innuendo, but her body responds as if it was. “How do I, um -?”

Skye smiles. “Here,” she says, and takes Jemma by the hand. She guides her hand up to a switch near the top of the board, places her fingertips just underneath, and lets go. “Switch that one.”

Jemma flicks it upwards, and suddenly the club is alive, sound everywhere and Jemma can feel it, bass running through her feet and her chest and she’s vibrating with it, all over. 

She looks up at Skye to see her beaming, so full of happiness and pride and Jemma’s never seen her quite like that before. It’s amazing. Skye turns to look at Jemma, and then the full force of that happiness is trained on her, and Skye is _beautiful_ and Jemma can feel the bass notes in the soles of her feet, her fingertips, her chest, vibrating. She’s thinking about Skye’s mouth, the way her lips are dark and soft and how long it’s been since she’s tasted them. She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice Skye reaching out to flick that one switch off until the music disappears. 

“See?” Skye says. She’s speaking at a normal indoor volume, but her voice seems oddly quiet after the boom of the speakers around them. “Superpowers.”

Jemma smiles. It’s a good line, and combined with Skye’s grin, still exhilarated from getting things to sound how she wanted, it’s pretty charming. “Don’t sell yourself too short. You have other superpowers, too,” Jemma says, without thinking. 

The lighting near the sound board isn’t the best, but she can see Skye’s pupils go wide, and it’s hard not to miss the way Skye’s lips part. “Yeah?”

Jemma hopes her blush isn’t too visible in the dim light. She keeps _saying things_ , god, why does she keep saying things. “That was inappropriate,” she says, trying to backpedal. 

“Of course it was.” But Skye’s still looking at Jemma like she wants to devour her, eyes roaming across the length of her body and it’s not fair that she’s so _pretty_ when she’s turned on.

Skye takes a step forward, closing the space between their bodies. Then there’s a strong arm around Jemma’s waist and hips pressing into hers, and Skye’s other hand is sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. It’s - god, it’s only been a week but she’s already missed this so much. Skye’s lips brush against hers, whisper-soft and just a little too far away, not quite enough contact. Jemma can feel the heat of her breath against her skin, warm and ticklish, and oh, she wants Skye so much. She sighs, frustrated, and Skye shivers in reply but doesn’t move closer. 

It’s Skye who holds her close, but it’s Jemma who pulls Skye by the collar and leans in so that they’re _kissing_ , properly, lips and teeth and gasping breath against each other. She can feel it everywhere, her mouth and her nipples and her groin. It’s obscene, Skye’s at _work_ , but Jemma doesn’t care, she just wants to taste. 

Skye’s hand moves up, nails scraping gently across Jemma’s scalp and it’s enough sensation to make her eyes roll back, too much and just enough all at once. 

Jemma feels this in her chest, too, and that’s what gets her. It’s not just the physical sensation of arousal, it’s butterflies and her heart racing, it’s every feeling she’s ever had for Skye, blossoming behind her ribs, oh god, oh god - 

Skye pulls back, breaking the kiss. She’s looking down at Jemma, mouth half-open, and oh, that _smile_. She slides one hand up to cup Jemma’s jaw, brushing her thumb across Jemma’s cheekbone. “Was that inappropriate?” she asks. 

Jemma doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t ever want to leave Skye, doesn’t ever want her to stop touching or kissing or being wonderful, and she knows what that _means_ but she doesn’t want to name it. She doesn’t want to be in love. “I -“ she starts. Her eyes sting, the way they always do when she’s about to cry, and she doesn’t want that, either. “I’m not sure.”

Skye steps away. Jemma’s back is suddenly cold, missing the warmth of Skye’s arm around her waist. She doesn’t know how to fix this. She doesn’t know how to not cry. “I have to go,” she manages to say, voice embarrassingly watery. 

“Okay,” Skye says. She sounds disappointed - which, of course she is, Jemma’s _disappointing_ \- but she doesn’t try to force the issue, and that sort of makes Jemma feel even worse. 

She makes it to the door, and then around the corner and down an alleyway, before she starts to cry. 

 

+

 

Things are tricky with Skye, after that, and it’s mostly Jemma’s fault. She’s just not sure how to navigate whatever it is they are to each other. They text most days - Skye sends her a message with a photo from Saturday night, dark with strobe lights and hundreds of dancing alt-rock and goth kids, and Jemma tells her how proud she is. Jemma texts choice lines from a particularly poorly written article on _dendroaspis_ breeding in captivity and Skye texts back delighted emojis, holding her own. 

They don’t talk about the kiss. They don’t talk about boundaries. Jemma doesn’t text about how much she misses Skye’s hands, or the smell of her hair, or the feel of her body curled against her back at night. 

That Friday, she’s out with Bobbi - drinks and their favourite not-sketchy all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant - when her phone buzzes with a text from Skye.

_\- So, do you have any big plans this weekend?_

Jemma frowns at her phone, suddenly worried. There’s a difference between friendly texting and _seeing_ Skye, and it’s an important one. She wants see Skye, but she doesn’t know what she’ll _do_ if she’s in a room with Skye, doesn’t know if they’ll end up being friends or if they’ll have sex or if it will end up someplace in the middle with messy feelings that leave Jemma confused and upset for days. She sets her phone down on the table and takes a piece of spicy tuna roll, instead. 

Her phone buzzes twice more - two more texts - and Bobbi notices from across the table. She smiles, takes a sip of her beer. “So, how’s your sex friend?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jemma says. She picks up her phone, checking the display quickly - two emojis, one the smiling face, the other a face with sunglasses - before tucking it back into her pocket. 

“Isn’t she texting you, like, right now?”

“Maybe.” 

“If you need to send a dirty message back, I can go to the bathroom for a minute,” she says. Then she winks. In case Jemma wasn’t fully aware that she was making a sex joke. 

Jemma sighs - she wants to talk this over with Bobbi but she also doesn’t, because it’s _confusing_. But Bobbi knows her too well, and she sets down her chopsticks and fixes Jemma with a look. “What did you do?” she asks. Her tone is gentle, supportive, and that helps.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jemma starts. Bobbi raises an eyebrow, unbelieving. She’s far too good at this. “All I did was rearticulate boundaries we’d discussed earlier on. Things were getting -“

“- relationshippy?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, it just - she was becoming a distraction.” 

Bobbi smiles. “Yeah, but a fun distraction. With nice hands, right? She seems like she’d be good with her hands.”

“ _Barbara_ ,” Jemma says, trying for scandalized.

Bobbi just gives her a smug half-smile, and says, “That good, huh?”

Jemma presses on, not acknowledging the fact that Bobbi is always eerily correct about everything to do with her sex life. “I rearticulated boundaries, but things have been - difficult.” 

“How so?”

“I don’t know, it’s just - I’ve done this before.” Bobbi nods. “And the boundaries just sort of happened. I’d call when it was necessary, and in between encounters we’d go about our separate lives. But with Skye, it’s all - fuzzy.” 

“Because you like her.”

“Well, of course I do, but I don’t see why that should -“

Bobbi’s shoe finds her leg under the table and she flexes her ankle, shaking Jemma’s leg to emphasize her point. “Because you _like her_ , like her.” 

“We’re not twelve.”

“Well, you’re sort of acting like you are.” Bobbi says. Her voice is gentle, but insistent, like she wants Jemma to hurry up and sort herself out. Jemma empathizes. “What’s she texting you about?” 

“She wants to know what I’m doing this weekend. Which means she wants to meet up. Which is _fine,_ but I know she’s going to suggest dinner, or drinks, and I know that if we do something like that it’s going to end in sex, and I’m not sure if that’s wise.” 

“Because she has good hands and everything is fuzzy.”

“Exactly.” 

Bobbi sighs - just a little - and gives Jemma an affectionate smile. “Why don’t you suggest something else then. During the day, maybe someplace neutral? A movie, or something.” 

“You think?”

Bobbi nods. “You can use me as an alibi if you need to. Tell her we have plans.” 

She reaches out and pets Jemma’s forearm, looks at her supportively. It helps, a lot. It’s nice to know that someone’s in her corner. Jemma texts back. 

 

+

 

She and Skye make plans to see a movie. Three in the afternoon on a Sunday, at the theatre closest to campus. There’s a new _Captain America_ film playing, and Jemma had suggested it half as a joke, expecting Skye to think it’s a childish idea, but it turns out to be one more thing they have in common. 

They meet at the theatre - no chance to get waylaid at someone’s apartment, or change plans at the last minute. Jemma arrives first, in jeans and a sensible sweater over a button-up shirt. Skye arrives soon after. She’s wearing one of the outfits she’d usually wear at work - skinny jeans and high tops and a plaid shirt - and it’s gorgeous. 

“Hey, you,” Skye says, and holds out one arm to offer Jemma a hug, in greeting. 

Jemma’s not sure if they’re at the hugging stage of friendship or not, but she doesn’t want to refuse. She leans in and wraps one arm around Skye’s waist, returning the gesture. Skye’s shoulder is warm, and when Jemma leans close she breathes in the smell of Skye’s shampoo, floral and spicy at the same time. It makes her think about kissing, about lying spread on her back on the floor of Skye’s apartment, and when she leans away, her heart’s beating faster than it should. “So,” Jemma says, voice a little too cheerful, a little too loud. “Shall we get tickets?”

Skye chuckles a little, nods _yes_. 

They get tickets - paid separately, Jemma appreciates that - and walk into the theatre. The film’s been out for a few weeks, but Jemma’s surprised to see the theatre quite as deserted as it is. There are only two other couples in the whole theatre. They have their choice of seats, and end up taking a spot in the very back row, right in the middle. 

Skye slouches down in her seat, setting the toe of one shoe on the armrest of the (empty) seat in front of her. She fidgets a few times, before sitting up and lifting the armrest between their chairs. “Is this okay?” she asks. 

“Sure,” Jemma says. 

Then Skye settles back down again, and this time her shoulder is resting against Jemma’s. It’s fine - it’s friendly contact, nothing more - but Jemma can’t stop thinking about the part of her upper arm that’s touching Skye’s. 

 

The movie is actually quite good, for a third sequel. The gentleman cast as Captain America is quite attractive, with an excellently-defined upper body, and he’s not terrible at acting. But the best part turns out to be Skye, who keeps turning to Jemma and making quiet comments. Ordinarily, Jemma would be horrified at someone talking during a film, but there are only four other people in the theatre and they’re all sitting far away, and Skye’s very good about keeping her voice low. Whenever she has something to say, she leans in against Jemma’s ear and murmurs commentary - a particular outfit she likes, questions about some of the more biologically-improbable stunt work - and every time she talks, her voice is at exactly the right pitch to make Jemma suppress a shiver. 

About an hour in, Jemma turns to make a comment back to Skye. She leans close, but as she moves, Skye turns to whisper into her ear and they end up nose to nose. Skye sighs, and Jemma can feel her breath on her lips, they’re so close. Skye’s eyes flick down, to Jemma’s mouth and back, and it’s dark and nobody will see and Skye smells so _good_ , and then her hand is on Jemma’s knee and they’re kissing. 

They’re kissing, and _oh_ , Jemma missed this. She missed the feel of Skye’s lips, the way she drags teeth across Jemma’s lower lip. She reaches up and drags her fingers through Jemma’s hair, and Jemma feels it like sparks, starting in her scalp and settling at the base of her spine, between her legs. Honestly, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Skye can get her worked up with just kissing, and before long she feels like she’s on fire, eager, trying to keep herself from whimpering. 

Skye pulls back for air, panting a little, and Jemma sighs out her disappointment. In the dark, she can see Skye smile bright white, all teeth and eager eyes. Skye shifts her weight, so that she’s not even pretending to watch the movie, she’s facing Jemma and pressing up against her side, all about her. She slides one hand underneath Jemma’s shirt and up her belly and Jemma can’t help it, she lets out this soft little hum of appreciation. Skye’s hand stops, fingertips brushing against the lower band of Jemma’s bra, _just_ the wrong side of where she’d like to be touched. 

“Shhh,” she whispers into Jemma’s ear. It hits Jemma right between her legs, and she nearly whimpers but manages to bite her lip instead, nods. 

Skye kisses her neck, and that’s hard to keep quiet about, but Jemma tries, breathes through it and sighs as quietly as she can. It’s good, it’s _so_ good, she hardly registers what’s happening on the screen in front of her. She knows it’s loud, something is exploding, but all that means is that when Skye’s fingers slide into her bra and find her nipples, hard and sensitive and waiting to be touched, she can sigh out her appreciation a little bit louder. 

The explosions on screen stop - someone’s getting punched in the face, that’s less loud. Skye’s hand moves away from her chest, and Jemma’s about to protest when she feels touch on her lower abdomen. There’s the delicious friction of teeth against her neck, and Skye is working her fingers under the waistband of Jemma’s jeans. She can’t get anywhere - it’s the wrong angle, and Jemma’s jeans are buttoned up - but Skye’s fingertips brush the top of her underwear and it’s too much. She starts to moan, and Skye cuts it off with her mouth against Jemma’s, swallowing the sound. 

When Skye pulls away, her lips are bright red from kissing and she’s looking at Jemma like she wants to eat her up. “Do you want to get out of here?” she whispers. 

“Yes,” Jemma replies. “Yes please.” 

She’s still rearranging her shirt as they leave the theatre, all but running outside. 

 

Jemma’s place is the nearest, and it’s - well, it’s different once they’re not inside the dark of a theatre. It feels easier to be calm and in control of herself and not desperate to mount Skye against a brick wall. But Skye’s hands keep gently touching, bumping against her thigh, her hand, her forearm, her back as she walks, reminding Jemma of how much she wants to touch her. She knows it’s a five minute trip, but it feels like hours before they finally make it to Jemma’s building, and longer still before they’re upstairs and inside her apartment. 

Jemma closes the door behind them. They don’t talk. 

It’s just Skye in front of her, leaning into her until her back hits the door with a gentle thud. Skye takes a deep breath, shaky on the inhale and sighing as she exhales. She’s looking at Jemma, eyes roaming from her head to her hips and back again, hungry. Jemma reaches out to hook her index finger through Skye’s belt loop, tugs once. 

Skye responds with her whole body, pressing the length of herself against Jemma. Her mouth is against Jemma’s throat and her hands are already at Jemma’s fly and that’s _fine_ , that’s what she’s been wanting for ages. It already feels like Skye can’t touch her soon enough. 

Her fly is down and she wants contact, wants fingers against her clit and she’s so eager that she finds herself whimpering against Skye’s shoulder. Skye’s hands are on her hips, and it’s not quite what she wants and she doesn’t know _why_. It takes her a few moments to realize, right. She’s wearing jeans, still, and they need to come off. 

Skye tugs at the waistband of Jemma’s jeans and Jemma helps, shimmying out of her jeans and underwear in one movement. By the time Jemma’s finished kicking her jeans away, Skye’s hand is between her legs. She slides one fingertip across her slit, and Jemma hisses at the contact. She’s so wet, and oh, she wants this, she’s never stopped wanting this. 

Skye groans, whispers, “Oh, god,” against Jemma’s shoulder at the feel of her, slippery-hot and eager, so eager. 

Her fingertips find Jemma’s clit, and for a little while, all Jemma can do is lean back against the door and sigh. It feels amazing. Skye _is_ really good with her hands. 

But she also - she likes being touched, but Jemma also wants to _touch_ , wants to feel Skye’s skin instead of fabric. She tugs at Skye’s shirt, unbuttoning with clumsy fingers as Skye touches her like _that_ , makes her gasp and sort of arch forward. She manages all the buttons from Skye’s collar to her navel, and that’s enough that she can slip her hands in and start to work at Skye’s bra. It’s - it’s not _difficult_ , but Skye is so good and she’s so close that she’s not really undressing Skye, not in a coordinated way. Instead, she’s sort of pawing at her, working hands into the cups of Skye’s bra and touching as best she can. 

Whatever she is managing to do, it’s working for Skye. Her nipples are taut and firm against Jemma’s palms and she drags her thumb across one, experimentally. Skye groans, aching up. The hand between Jemma’s legs stops moving in a coordinated way, and Skye’s head comes down to rest against Jemma’s shoulder, heavily. 

Skye rests there for a moment, seemingly thinking, before she takes her hand back and starts to undress herself, sliding out of her shirt, her bra, working at the button of her own jeans. Jemma follows suit, and then they’re both naked. Skye’s giving her this _look_ , hungry and completely focused on the length of Jemma’s body. Jemma’s sure she’s got the exact same expression on her face as she looks at Skye, tries to memorize everything about her. 

“Bedroom?” Skye murmurs, addressing someplace close to Jemma’s navel.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Jemma says. She’d be embarrassed for sounding so breathless if it weren’t for the way that Skye takes her hand and all but drags her forward. 

Jemma’s knees hit the bed first, and she ends up on her back, on the bed, scrambling backward to accommodate Skye, who follows. They fit together so well, so easily - Skye’s thigh pressed between hers and Skye’s cunt warm against her thigh and her breasts pressed to Jemma’s side as she curls around her body. Skye’s fingertips find her clit again, and then she slips fingers inside and Jemma feels like she’s on fire. She fits so well, fills Jemma up so nicely, and Jemma’s so _close_ she can hardly stand it. She sinks her hips down, thrusting against Skye’s hand, and then _oh_ her fingertips find that spot inside, the one that makes her cry out and arch up and then she’s coming, all heat and wetness and clenching around Skye’s hand. 

Jemma shudders for what feels like ages, whimpering as Skye helps her ride out her aftershocks with slow, lazy thrusts of her hand. She feels amazing. _Skye_ is amazing. 

She needs to come down, a little, but Skye is kissing across her chest like she’s aching to be touched, like she missed this just as much as Jemma did, and _oh,_ , that’s important. “Come here,” Jemma mumbles, nuzzling against the top of Skye’s head. 

She means something very specific, knows she hasn’t communicated it very well. Skye moves closer to Jemma’s side, cuddling up against her and wrapping one arm across her waist, tugging her close. Jemma shakes her head, frustrated. “No, come -“ 

She sort of gestures, and Skye lights up, getting it. 

Skye rises up on her knees and moves up the bed. She arranges herself so that her knees are bookending Jemma’s ears, then slides her hips lower, and lower still. “Like this?” Skye whispers. There’s that lopsided smile again, like she already knows the answer. 

“Yeah,” Jemma replies. She finds Skye’s hips with her hands and helps Skye move, until her cunt is right against Jemma’s mouth. 

She tastes so good, she’s so hot against her tongue, she’s so _wet_ and Jemma can hardly believe it. She makes this sound when Jemma’s tongue flicks against her clit, this sort of wail and then _oh_ , and Jemma likes that. When Jemma licks just the right way, she arches forward and mumbles Jemma’s name. It’s a little unclear, because she’s so far gone, but Jemma finds she likes that a lot more. 

She licks into Skye, tasting the length of her and then finding the spot she likes best, the one that makes her buck her hips a little bit, and grind down against Jemma’s mouth. It’s not long before Skye is coming, arching up. From Jemma’s angle she can watch the length of her, eyes closed and jaw slack and the shape of her breasts-hips-belly, _beautiful._ Jemma can’t help but think about how wonderful she is, about how much she likes her - loves her, maybe - and it’s huge and wonderful and terrifying, all at once. 

Skye rides out her orgasm in little shudders, rocking gently against Jemma’s face. When she’s done - really done - she sort of slumps down, leaning onto all fours on the bed and easing herself off of Jemma. 

Skye slides onto the bed and they snuggle - that’s the only word for it - Jemma tucked against Skye’s side and Skye’s mouth pressed to the top of her head, running fingers through her hair. “You’re really good at that,” she says. Her voice is still low, sex-rough and unbelievably attractive. “Fuck.”

“You’re not so bad, yourself,” Jemma says, drawing circles across Skye’s bare belly. 

Skye chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of Jemma’s head. Jemma can feel her exhale against her scalp, warm breath that makes her feel safe, held. She closes her eyes. This - the two of them, curled together on Jemma’s bed - this, Jemma understands. This feels like something she wants. 

Jemma feels Skye take a breath, as if she’s about to speak, then sigh it out again. “Um,” she starts. Jemma can feel her chest rise as she takes another deep breath, tries again. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Jemma says, rolling over so that she can look at Skye’s face. 

“Look,” she says. “I know you want boundaries, and that’s okay. But I thought you should know that I’m really into you. If that means anything. I just - I wanted you to know that, in case that changes anything for you.”

Just like that, all the air leaves the room, and Jemma is left speechless, heart racing. It’s wonderful and terrifying all at once, and it feels just like Antoine all over again (but different, because it’s _Skye_ ). 

There’s a part of Jemma that wants to tell her everything - how much she likes her, how much she misses her when she’s gone, how she wants to stay like this, curled against Skye in her bedroom, forever. Maybe that’s the same thing as Skye being really into her, maybe those are feelings she can reciprocate, but the idea of putting those feelings into words is awful. She wants to explain that - about Antoine, about why this is so hard - but she can’t think of a way to say it that doesn’t sound like an excuse. 

Skye is waiting, watching her for a reply. Jemma realizes it’s probably been minutes since she said anything, and that’s wrong, too. She’s supposed to say something. “Thank you,” she whispers, because she doesn’t know what else to say. 

There’s silence, for a beat, and god, the look on Skye’s face. Jemma turns away, unable to watch. “Oh,” Skye finally says. 

Jemma feels the bed move, then the loss of Skye’s warmth against her as she gets out of bed. She doesn’t want to look at Skye, not at first, but she manages to force her gaze up. Skye’s not crying, but her eyes are red-rimmed and watery, like she might start. She looks so _upset_ , and it hits Jemma right in her heart, every single reason why Jemma doesn’t do this. “Skye,” she starts.

“Look,” Skye says, cutting Jemma off. Her voice is quiet, dangerous, and she’s so _hurt_ , so _angry_ , but Jemma deserves every ounce of it. “You keep saying this is just about hooking up, but you visit me at work, you hold my hand, you fuck me like _that_ , that’s not just sex.” 

She’s already getting dressed, tugging on her jeans and buttoning her shirt over her bare chest. She’s forgotten her bra - it’s hanging over the end of the bed - but she realizes it after she’s already dressed. She tucks it into her back pocket, furious and already halfway to the door. 

Jemma tugs on jeans and a top as quickly as she can, hoping to follow. She doesn’t know what she’d say, but every part of her wants Skye not to leave. “Skye, I -“ 

Skye stops by the door, whirling to face her. “What? You what, Jemma?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She can feel her throat tightening, tears pricking behind her eyes.

Skye sighs. For a moment, there’s a flicker of the way she usually looks at Jemma, and her expression softens slightly. “Just - just call me? But call me after you figure out what you want.”

Then she’s out the door, and Jemma’s standing in the hallway, watching her leave. 

She stands, waiting for what feels like a long time. She knows she should close the door, go back inside. There are clothes all over her floor, and she should probably change the sheets, and she has reading she could be getting done while she puts in a load of laundry. A door opens across the hall and she whirls, startled. 

It’s just Fitz. Jemma sighs out relief. He’s standing there in boxers and a t-shirt - his usual attire when he’s working from home - smiling at her. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi, Fitz.”

“Heard you opening your door, sounded like maybe you’d had your girl over again.” He says it in his usual tone - teasing, emphasis on the word _girl_ \- and he’s grinning at her like he’s expecting a reply. 

Somehow, hearing it - _your girl_ \- in someone else’s voice makes Jemma feel even worse. It’s not Fitz’s fault, there’s no way he could know that they’ve just had a fight, no way he could know that Jemma just finished falling in love and breaking Skye’s heart all in the same afternoon, because she’s _awful._

It’s suddenly all too much, and she lets out one loud, ugly sob before she starts to cry. 

“Oh, hey,” he says. Then he crosses the hallway and pulls her into a big, warm hug. It helps, but it also makes her cry harder. 

It should be awkward - the two of them, Fitz in his silly _bigger on the inside_ TARDIS boxers and Jemma barefoot, but it’s not. She cries until her nose is running and her eyes are red and she realizes that she’s probably still got sex hair, but she clings to Fitz for dear life, letting him hold her. He hugs her tight and kisses the top of her head and tells her that it’s okay, over and over again, until she’s almost exhausted enough to believe him.


	7. we're never going to get it right, unless we fall

Jemma wakes up to a knock on her apartment door at 6:55 in the morning. There’s a moment - between putting her hand on the knob and opening the door - when a part of her hopes the person on the other side might be Skye. 

It isn’t - of course it isn’t - but Jemma’s heart still sinks when she opens the door and sees Fitz. He’s still in his pyjamas (the ones his mum sent for Christmas, patterned with St Andrew’s cross flags and cartoon Loch Ness monsters), shifting from foot to foot. 

“Fitz,” she says, rubbing her eyes drowsily. 

“Hey,” he starts. “Um, I just wanted to see if you were okay, you know, after being all sad last night.” 

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll be fine.” 

“And, um, if you don’t want to come into the lab today, I’ll cover for you. Don’t worry about it.” 

It’s an incredibly sweet offer. They’re usually quite competitive with each other, and any late mornings or missed days are an automatic victory. For a moment, she really considers it. But then she thinks about spending the day alone in her apartment, with nothing to think about but Skye, and her stomach turns. “That’s alright,” she says. “I’ll be in.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. I’ll just tell everyone I tried to cook you dinner and you got the stomach flu, they’ll understand about that.”

“Really, Fitz,” she says, meaning it. Besides, she and Fitz have a draft of a submission to _Science_ that they need to get to Dr. Coulson by the end of the week, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let Fitz claim he did the most work just because she was torn up about some girl. (Oh, but she can’t even think that, it’s not _some girl_ it’s _Skye_. That’s the problem.)

“Alright, if you’re sure,” he says. 

“I am, thank you, Fitz.” 

Fitz nods, a little gruffly. He shifts from foot to foot, clearly thinking about whether or not he should leave. Then he darts forward and pulls her into a hug. He’s sweaty and smells like early morning, but then again, so does she, probably. The hug is over almost as quickly as it began, and then it’s Fitz saying, “Right, then,” and heading back to his side of the hallway. 

Jemma showers, makes breakfast, eats. She gets dressed, and maybe she spends a little extra time choosing an outfit (maybe a lot of her clothing reminds her of times she wore it around Skye), but she’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine. 

 

+

 

When she arrives at the lab - ten minutes late - Fitz gives her a wide berth. He brings her a coffee without her asking for it, lets her take the best chair in the lab and doesn’t say a word about Skye. She appreciates it. 

It almost works, for a bit - she gets absorbed in working at her laptop, enough that she doesn’t even notice when Fitz leaves the lab. It’s not until Bobbi appears at the doorway that she looks up. 

“Bobbi,” she says, surprised. 

Bobbi is leaning against the lab doorway, one hip jutting out, arms crossed. “Hey. So, I’ve only got twenty minutes, I’m running an assay,” she says, pointing to the kitchen timer clipped to the waistband of her jeans. “But Fitz told me that I should come talk to you because you were having - I swear this is how he put it - ‘a lot of girl feelings.’ I think he’s worried about you.”

“Oh,” Jemma says, with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says. She’s looking at Jemma like she kind of already knows what’s going on, and her voice is gentle when she asks, “What’s up?”

Somehow, Bobbi asking her is even worse than Fitz. 

She doesn’t cry right away. She has no desire to cry at work and be seen by Doctor Coulson, or worse, Doctor May. But then she tries to speak, and the words in her head - _Skye and I broke up_ \- aren’t even true, because they weren’t ever dating, but this still feels like breaking up. She manages to start with Skye’s name, before her voice gets tight and her eyes well up. She can’t get any more words out. 

Bobbi, bless her, understands immediately. She pulls a chair next to Jemma’s and half-drags her into a hug, the tightest one she can. She’s a better hugger than Fitz - her arms are stronger, and she smells better - and Jemma lets herself be held, pressing her face against Bobbi’s shoulder. “Oh, Jemma,” she murmurs. 

It’s comforting, and Jemma leans into her for a long while, letting herself enjoy the feeling of Bobbi around her. She wants to cry - a lot - but she also doesn’t want to be the person who cries in the lab. So she sits up, brushing a few stray tears off her cheeks, and tries to think calming thoughts. Bobbi pets her hair, stroking with the flat of her hand and gently curling the ends around her fingertips. 

Finally, she leans in, and says, “Maybe you should just date her?”

It’s not an accusation, it’s not an _I told you so_ , and Jemma appreciates that. It’s matter-of-fact, gentle. Jemma sighs. “But that was the whole point. I didn’t want things to be like they were with Antoine, I wanted _simple._ And now I’ve hurt her, and that’s not what I wanted at _all,_ but - oh, Bobbi, you should have seen her face last night. I’m terrible.”

“I’m sure that you’re not,” Bobbi says, draping an arm across Jemma’s shoulders. She pulls Jemma in, until she’s close enough that Bobbi can press a friendly kiss to the top of her head. “But it does sound like maybe you should have been more honest with yourself, about how you felt about her?”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. I don’t deserve to be with someone like Skye, not after how I’ve behaved.”

“Have you asked her that?”

Jemma shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. She’s probably moving to Hawaii already.” 

“I promise you, she’s not,” Bobbi says, chuckling. Jemma manages a small laugh back. “What happened last night?”

Jemma sighs. This is the hard part, and she’s silent for a long while before she manages to explain. “She - we went back to my apartment. And then after, um -“ Jemma coughs, embarrassed but sure that Bobbi knows what she means. “She told me that she cared, and that she wanted to - have something more, with me.” 

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her _anything_ , that’s the problem. I wanted to, but I just - I don’t know, I couldn’t. Which was rude, and then she got upset because she thinks I don’t care at all, and it’s not _that_ , but then she was all upset, and naked, and she just - left.”

“Oh, honey,” Bobbi says. She rubs Jemma’s back, back and forth, in slow circles. 

“It was awful,” Jemma says. Her voice is watery again, but she blinks the tears away.

“But clearly she still cares, if not being with you makes her upset.” Bobbi says, sweet and reasonable. 

“But it’s not like it’s going to work out, anyway. We couldn’t be more different.”

Bobbi’s expression manages to convey _I love you_ and _I think you’re being an idiot_ all at the same time. It must be all the practice she’s had from dating Lance. “Is that so bad?”

“Maybe,” Jemma says. She doesn’t know, and that’s the problem. She likes things orderly, detailed. She can talk about tricky biochemical properties of organic compounds for hours, when most people couldn’t, because at their core they’re predictable, repeatable. Feelings, on the other hand, are bloody impossible. 

“I mean, look at Lance and I. We’re pretty much a perfect match on paper, but how many times have we broken up?”

“This month?” Jemma says, trying for a smile. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says, bumping Jemma’s shoulder with her own. “That’s what I mean. You don’t have to be similar to work well together.”

Jemma’s silent for a while, considering. Before she can speak, Bobbi continues. “Plus, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And when she’s around, you’re - I don’t know. She makes you seem relaxed. That doesn’t happen a lot with you. Besides, things have already ended in tears, right? It can only get better from here.”

Jemma sighs. Everything sounds so logical and obvious, when Bobbi says it, but in her heart it still feels awful and messy and difficult. She wants Skye - god, she _wants_ her - and she already misses sending her texts in the morning, misses the way she sometimes overuses emojis and the sound of her laugh. But having a relationship feels so _big_ , and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to be what Skye needs or if it will last or any of the important things. 

Bobbi wraps her in another big hug, squeezing until Jemma’s ribs ache a little, exactly what she needs. The timer at Bobbi’s belt starts to chirp, and she moves one hand away to silence it. “I have to get back, Jemma,” she whispers. 

Jemma nods. “Of course. You should go ahead.”

“You going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Jemma says, means it. 

“You want me to come over tonight? Pizza and beer?”

“Yes, please.”

“Just - think about what I said, okay? Think about talking to her?”

Jemma nods. “I will,” she says. Bobbi pulls her in for one last hug, and then she’s alone in the lab again. 

 

+

 

Jemma finishes her workday, she goes home, she does laundry. She’s fine. 

She’s fine until she’s folding, and she finds an unfamiliar shirt in the pile. It’s not one of hers, but it’s too small to be one of Bobbi’s, and it takes her a few seconds before she realizes that it’s the shirt that Skye lent her, weeks ago. That morning feels like a different life, it’s so far removed from where she is now. She’s suddenly so sad - sad in a way that makes her exhausted, sad because Skye probably won’t ever loan her shirts again, or make her coffee again, or kiss her and smile the way Jemma likes. 

She holds the shirt to her face, breathing in. It doesn’t smell like Skye anymore - obviously, it smells like Jemma’s laundry detergent - but she wishes it did. She holds it to her chest, keeping it close, and lets herself have a moment of _missing_. 

She thinks about calling, or maybe texting. But then Skye’s voice is in her thoughts, so hurt, so disappointed. _Call me when you figure out what you want._

Jemma finishes folding, and puts her laundry away. She sets Skye’s shirt to the side, just in case. 

There’s a knock at the door, and she tucks Skye’s shirt under her pillow. Bobbi’s due to come over, and she doesn’t want her to see, doesn’t want her to know that Jemma’s been moping after Skye. As she approaches the door, this time, she’s sure it’s Bobbi. She can already smell the pepperoni. 

Sure enough, Bobbi is on the other side of the door, holding pizza and carrying her backpack. “Hey,” she says, walking inside. “So, I couldn’t decide what kind of beer to get, which means we have options - Sad Panda, or Flying Monkey. Thoughts?”

Jemma shrugs. She’s not really in the mood for beer, but it’s part of the tradition. “Whichever you’re having is fine,” she says. 

Bobbi sets the pizza on the counter, and opens her bag. Before long, she’s organized everything - pizza on a plate for Jemma, a paper towel for herself - and she’s pressing food and a bottle of _Flying Monkey IPA_ into Jemma’s hand. “Come,” she says. “Couch. We’re going to eat pizza and have a beer and watch movies, so that you don’t have to think about whats-her-name for a few hours.”

Jemma sits on the couch obediently. Not thinking about Skye for a few hours sounds lovely, right about now, and she’s grateful to Bobbi for handling the evening for her. She even takes a sip of her beer, and discovers that it’s surprisingly good. 

“So, what are you in the mood for when it comes to movies? _A Knight’s Tale_?”

That’s Bobbi’s go-to breakup movie, but Jemma’s always found it quite romantic, and she’s not sure she can handle something like that tonight. She shakes her head. “Something with explosions?”

“ _Sharknado_ it is, then.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose a little. Bobbi’s third great love, after biochemistry and Lance Hunter, is terrible science fiction, and Jemma’s never quite shared that interest. “Come on,” Bobbi says. “It’ll be mindless, it’ll be sharky, and if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you point out all the scientific inaccuracies.” 

Jemma cuddles in against Bobbi’s side, and takes a bite of her pizza. “I’m always nice to you,” she says.

“Exactly.” Bobbi leans her free arm across the back of the couch, then slides it down so that it’s around Jemma’s shoulders, squeezing her in a tight hug. 

Jemma eats pizza, and drinks beer, and she and Bobbi point out all of the reasons that a tornado filled with live sharks is scientifically ridiculous. For a little while, she feels like life without Skye won’t be so bad. 

 

+

 

The next day, and all the days after that, Jemma works. She gets two weeks ahead on her readings, finishes a presentation, and starts plotting out protocols for a new experiment. She works, and she doesn’t think about Skye, doesn’t think about the dull ache in her chest whenever she walks past Eagle Coffee on the way to the lab. She doesn’t think about the way she gets hopeful when she sees skinny jeans and dark hair out of the corner of her eye, or the awful, sad feeling that replaces it when it’s not Skye (it’s never Skye). 

She goes in to Eagle Coffee on a Wednesday. It’s been a week and three days. She doesn’t plan to see Skye, not really. She plans to work on her grading (seemingly endless, but Doctor Coulson keeps assigning reports to his undergraduate courses, and someone needs to mark them), and she knows that Skye usually works on Wednesdays, but she’s not thinking about it like that. 

Still, she is sort of expecting Skye to be there. Not to talk, necessarily, but - just to see her. To be in a room with her. Because even if she’s not thinking about all of the ways she misses Skye, it’s there all the time, under her skin. 

She gets to the counter to order, and she realizes that it’s not Skye there at all. It’s her hipster lumberjack coworker, with his suspenders and his carefully-trimmed beard. He’s not unattractive, but he’s also not Skye. She realizes, with a shock, that Skye must have changed her shifts. 

She orders a latte, and sits with her grading, and tries not to think about anything at all. 

 

+

 

Jemma gets a text at 3:00 on a Thursday. It’s been eleven days since she last heard from Skye. 

Her heart sort of leaps when she sees the name on the display, and it takes her three tries to put in her passcode and get to the message itself. It’s very well composed, no emojis or smiley faces, perfect sentences. Jemma almost wonders if Skye rewrote it a few times. 

_\- Hey, Jemma. It’s Skye, in case you don’t have my number in your phone anymore. I know you don’t want to date, but I miss you, and I think we’d be really good at dating each other. I’m doing sound for The Inhumans at Afterlife tomorrow night. Your name is on the list, if you change your mind about me._

She bites her lip. Skye sent her a message - Skye _missed her_ , and it’s scary but the best kind, filling her up. She doesn’t reply to Skye, but she does flick over to her conversation with Bobbi. 

_\- Skye just texted._

Bobbi replies back with a screen full of the little party confetti emoji, and Jemma laughs. 

She thinks about replying to Skye, as well. But she doesn’t know if a text like that merits a reply, or what an appropriate response would be, so she leaves it, at least for the time being, and goes back to her work. 

It’s not long before there’s a knock at the door to the lab. She looks up to find Bobbi in the doorway, grinning at Jemma with plans in her eyes. “Hey, Fitz,” she says, “Jemma and I need the room to talk lady business. Give us a minute?”

Fitz rolls his eyes. 

“Gladly,” he says, and slides off his chair. He brings his laptop with him, and Jemma knows he’ll end up sitting at Bobbi’s desk in her lab, chatting with Mack. 

Bobbi waits until Fitz is out before she closes the door, locks it behind her. “So,” she says, quirking one eyebrow archly. 

“So?”

“She texted,” Bobbi says, “Don’t leave me hanging.” 

Jemma sighs, and gives Bobbi a hard look. “Promise me you won’t reply on my behalf.” 

Bobbi rolls her eyes, but it’s not a reply, and Jemma knows her too well. “Bobbi,” she says. 

“Fine, fine,” Bobbi says. “I promise, I promise, show me the text.” 

Bobbi takes her phone and reads it twice, eyes flicking across the screen, before lighting up with a delighted, proud smile. She punches Jemma in the arm (eagerly enough that it hurts, a little), and sing-songs, “She liiiiiikes you.” Jemma feels her face heat up, knows that she’s probably blushing. “I bet she wants to touch your butt.”

“ _Barbara,_ ” Jemma says. She’s trying for stern, but _Skye sent her a text message today_ , and all she can manage is gentle embarrassment. 

“What, it’s not like she hasn’t touched your butt already.”

“That’s not the - what am I supposed to do,” Jemma asks, trying to change the subject. “Should I respond, or do I just come to this club?”

“Of course you go. You absolutely go, and you wear something cute, and you tell her how you feel.”

“But I don’t _know_ how I feel, that’s the problem.” 

Bobbi sighs, that long-suffering one that she usually reserves for Lance. She sets her hands on Jemma’s shoulders and leans down, meeting her eyes. “Jemma,” she says. “Do you miss her?”

Jemma nods. 

“Do you want to hold her hand, and tell her she’s pretty, and appreciate how good she is with her hands for the forseeable future?”

Jemma nods.

“Tell her that, then.”

That seems like something she might be able to do, and she nods again, more thoughtfully. “Do you think that’ll be enough?”

Bobbi pulls her into a big hug, the kind that always seems to work to make Jemma feel better. “I think you should tell her, and see.” 

 

+

 

It takes Jemma an hour to shower and make dinner and decide on makeup for the evening. It takes her another two to get dressed. 

She’s already texted Bobbi four different outfit selfies (every one approved with two fire emojis and a thumbs up), and she’s sitting on the bed, trying to feel confident enough to go to a goth club by herself to impress a girl. To impress _Skye_ , which somehow seems easier and harder all at once. 

For a moment, she indulges herself, and thinks about not going at all. She thinks about how easy it would be, how she’d wake up well-rested tomorrow, present at Journal Club, and excel at everything. Nobody would make fun of her for not having anything appropriate to wear to a rock concert. 

But then she catches sight of the sleeve of Skye’s shirt, under her pillow. She runs her hand across the fabric, and it makes her remember Skye’s arms around her waist, the taste of her mouth, the way she looked at Jemma when she said _I’m really into you._

She gets her purse. Her outfit will have to do. 

 

+

 

The sidewalk in front of Afterlife is completely packed, filled with people kitted out in leather and coloured hair and more eyeliner than Jemma’s ever worn in her life. She thought her outfit - plaid skirt, black sweater, a touch of dark eyeliner - would fit in, but clearly she’s nowhere close to having the right sort of clothes for this club. She wrestles her way to the place that looks like it might be the front of the line, says, “Excuse me,” to the large bouncer in front. “I’m on the list. Jemma Simmons?”

He casts a fairly unimpressed glance at her outfit, looking her up and down with a raised eyebrow that makes Jemma feel about six inches tall. But he does check, and true to Skye’s word, her name is there. He lets her in with a sigh and a grunt. 

The inside of Afterlife isn’t much better. It’s dark, hideously crowded with coloured lights flashing everywhere. There’s a band on the stage out front, setting up and testing their instruments. There’s a beautiful woman on lead guitar, with stripes of makeup like scars across her face. She wears her guitar across her hips, and sort of leans into it as she strums up and down, letting the club fill with the crunchy, electric noise of an experimental first chord. The man sitting at the drum kit hits the cymbals enthusiastically, and the guitarist flashes him an indulgent smile. 

As Jemma moves further into the club, looking for Skye, another woman appears onstage. She’s dark-skinned, wearing a dress covered in flowers, hair twisted back from her face and almost spiky with product. She sidles up to the microphone and pulls it close to her, casts a seductive look at the crowd in front of her. “Hey, Afterlife,” she all but moans, leaning against the mic stand and bouncing on her toes, clearly excited to perform. “We’re the Inhumans, and we’re here to fuck you _up._ ”

Then she starts singing, her voice deep and angry and sensual all at the same time. Jemma can’t make out a word, but she sort of feels like she doesn’t need to. It’s beautiful, and she can feel the bass, low, thrumming through her chest and the soles of her feet. The whole club is vibrating with it, and she knows that’s because of Skye, even if she can’t see her doing it. Somehow, she feels proud all the same. 

The band makes it through two full songs before she’s able to make it across the club, to the corner where she knows she’ll find the sound board. Skye is there, plaid shirt tied around her waist - it’s hot down in the crowd, and must be even hotter where Skye’s standing, near the stage lights. Her tank top highlights her arms, the way the coloured lights highlight different parts of her tattoo. She’s leaning against a pillar, one hand resting at the side of the board, confident and ready. She’s got her hair tied back but tucked into her favourite grey beanie, and Jemma feels like she’s forgotten just how attractive Skye could be. It hits her all at once, and for a long while she stands at the edge of the crowd, watching Skye, breathless. 

The band finishes one song and starts up for another - this one has the woman on guitar harmonizing with the woman on vocals - and Jemma watches as Skye adjusts a few things, listens, slides one of the controls up a little. 

Jemma’s not sure if she should interrupt, but she wants Skye to know she’s here, that she came for her. Before she can think about it too much, Skye pauses to look across the crowd. She notices Jemma, and she breaks into this smile, relieved and delighted all at once. 

Skye steps away from her station to take Jemma by the wrist, pull her away from the crowd. It’s unexpected, and Jemma trips a little and then she’s right against Skye and Skye is pulling her into a hug. She’s warm, soft, holding Jemma so tightly and Jemma can smell her hair, sweat, her all of her. It feels a little like coming home. 

“Jemma,” Skye says, and for once, it almost seems like she doesn’t know what to say. 

“Hello,” Jemma replies. 

“You made it.”

“I did,” Jemma says. 

“Did you get in okay? The bouncers here can be kind of rude sometimes, I told them -“

“Yes, it was fine,” Jemma says, interrupting. She’s not sure what to say after that, so she continues. “Everyone here is very dark. I felt a little out of place.”

Skye looks her up and down - boots to hair - and smiles. “I think you fit okay.”

Jemma blushes. They’re staring at each other, and Jemma doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, but she misses Skye so much. Now that she’s here, looking at Skye, she feels every ounce of it. She misses Skye - she _likes_ Skye - and she doesn’t want to talk about outfits or anything else. She just wants her. 

She fidgets a little, not sure how to begin. 

Before she can overthink things too much, Jemma fists her hand in the front of Skye’s tank top and pulls her forward, into a kiss. Skye kisses back, eager-mouthed, her hands flying up to tangle in Jemma’s hair. Her lips still taste the same as they did last week. 

They kiss through the chorus, through the woman onstage banging out a guitar solo, until Jemma is breathless. 

She pulls back, panting a little. Skye’s grinning at her, lips slick and eyes dark. “Oh?” she says. 

It means a lot of things, and the answer to all of them is _yes_. Jemma sighs. “I’m really stupid,” she says. It seems like a good place to start. 

Skye smiles - god, she smiles - like Jemma’s the only person in the room. “Yeah?” she says, hopefully. 

Jemma nods. “I missed you so much,” she says. “I don’t want to miss you anymore.” 

Skye lights up, leaning in to rest her forehead against Jemma’s. This is messy, and relationshippy, but Skye is so _happy_ and right now, that feels worth it. 

“Good,” she whispers. “I really missed you, too.” 

“Yeah?”

“Like, _really_ ,” she says, and maybe she wraps her arms around Jemma’s waist and leans in with her hips and it’s suggestive but it’s also what Jemma needs and maybe she tears up a little but it’s happy, it’s right. 

“Good,” Jemma whispers, and then Skye is kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw, her mouth, holding her closer and closer and tighter and tighter. 

Dimly, Jemma’s aware of bass, of vibrations she can feel in her feet, her chest. There’s a woman’s voice, growling out lyrics. She can’t make them out between the thud of the bass and the thump of her heart and Skye’s smile, lighting her up.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is a line from "Finger Twist & Split" by Cute Is What We Aim For. Chapter titles are also lifted from song lyrics, as is my habit. This isn't quite my writing playlist, but for the curious: 
> 
> Chapter 1: The Sophomore Attempt - Get Me An Exit  
> Chapter 2: MxPx - Party, My House, Be There  
> Chapter 3: The 1975 - Sex  
> Chapter 4: Cute Is What We Aim For - Finger Twist and Split  
> Chapter 5: Joshua Radin - Away We Go  
> Chapter 6: Ingrid Michaelson - Mountain and the Sea  
> Chapter 7: Sing It Loud - I've Got A Feeling
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, as always, to thrace & Jen & Mary, who did some light beta-reading and listened to me go !!!!! about this fic for the billion months it took to write.


End file.
